Fright Night (1985) Rose's Journey 1 (Beginning): Blood Atonement
by GaGa4FrightNight
Summary: Rose, a smart mouthed 17 year old, hates that her dad just moved her and her brother into the creepy house at 99 Oak Street. There's something supernaturally creepy inside that infamous house and Rose reluctantly comes face to face with this something that's actually damned good looking and knows it. Who or what?
1. Chapter 1

FRIGHT NIGHT

1.5

Blood Atonement

Chapter One

By

~GaGa4FrightNight~

_(Author)_

_Yes, yes, I am officially back, my adoring Fright Night lovers! Here is something I started, gosh, last year I believe. Well, during my absence this particular scenario or perhaps sequel has been my obsession! I love this story! I do hope y'all enjoy this and, hell, whip out the old 80s heavy metal and get into the groove!_

_Big Assed Loves_

_GaGa4FrightNight_

The sky was in overcast with a thin layer of clouds giving the sky more of a grayish white appearance instead of clear blue and sunlight. The sun was hidden behind fall's beginning overcast which also gave the sky that almost gray-white glow. And staring up at the somewhat gloomy gray-white sky were the blue eyes of seventeen year old Rose Garrett. Her eyes peered through the combination of the black framed glasses over her eyes and the rolled up window of the backseat door of the wide load 1978 station wagon; the back overflowed with stuffed trash bags and filled boxes. It was the same sky she's watched all day long and yesterday and the day before that. Three days of travel being stuck in the half loaded backseat while her younger ten year old brother Jacob road shotgun in the front seat while their father John Garrett was behind steering wheel. She spent most of the travel deafened by the headphones of her cassette player Sony walkman while the two guys in front jabbered on and on about sports and whatever else fathers and sons talked about. Her silence was caused by the dislike of having to move away from all her friends who were left behind at the east coast and the only family home she knew since she was at least two years of age. Now their destination was pretty much almost reached.

Rose understood why they had to move so far away; her dad's employment decided to transfer him to one of a recently taken over factory. John Garrett really had no choice, either transfer or lose his job and so he of course chose the transfer. Though she understood, she still hated it. She felt as if her life was going into the total shithole because of having to move into a new house within a new town and forced to be the new kid at a new high school. Never once was she the new kid; knew the same kids all her life. There was nothing but dread inside the teenager while her younger brother, several years younger, was actually excited about them being uprooted and taken away from everything. She dreaded everything from that move that was almost to an end, unpacking their belongings inside a whole different and unfamiliar house, and most dreaded was the moment she had to step foot onto those new school grounds and be forced to feel like a pariah amongst her new peers. But what was the hardest was leaving behind the town and the cemetery her mother was buried.

The driver's door slammed closed just as one song faded before moving into another and Rose finally looked to John after hours of staring out window. John Garrett first smiled at his son Jacob then looked into the rearview mirror to the reflected back seat at his daughter who had basically put him on the fence with a typical dose of silent treatment. "Well," he cleared his throat ignoring Rose's typically stone face of dislike then looked to the more cheerful expression of Jacob's, "I got the keys to the new house and next stop is 99 Oak." He enjoyed Jacob's enthusiasm, the younger of the two literally cheered with excitement while Rose basically did her typical eye roll of lesser than enthusiastic attitude. "Okay, we ready?" he held onto his cheery smile then listened to Jacob practically shout, "Damn straight, Dad!" He sort of was surprised by his son's language but simply laughed it off. He didn't expect a single word from the pouter in the backseat and so the station wagon was revved up and pulled away from the realtor's office then moved toward a small suburban neighborhood that had been around since the town blossomed.

Within about fifteen minutes the boat of a vehicle rolled onto Oak Street. Jacob was literally bouncing in the front seat with his neck stretched out trying to spot the family's new house. Rose continued to stare out the window watching the perky little houses and their white picket fences slowly pass by. Some houses seemed older than others by at least decades with the typical family lived in look but well maintained. She could imagine the house they were going to be living looking similar and just as prim and proper. "There it is." She heard her dad call out and finally she pried her eyes from the window and peered over the front seat trying to catch a quick glimpse of their new house. Her eyes frowned then widened with shock that the house looked nothing like the others around it. She looked to the back of her dad's head in disbelief; that huge creepy house was their new home? "You gotta be shitting me!" she finally spoke after days of virtual silence; even pulling her glasses down to the tip of her nose didn't make the image of the house look any better, just blurred. She reluctantly pushed the glasses back up the bridge of her slightly freckled nose having to see the house in clear detail; it looked old and creepy.

"Oh, she finally speaks." John chimed hearing his daughter's voice for the first time in days, "Does this mean the silent treatment is over with?" He glanced at Rose in the rearview mirror and immediately picked up on her shock about the state of their new home. "Hey, I know doesn't look like much but the inside looks better than the outside, promise." He hoped it did then wound the steering wheel and rolled the wagon onto the driveway of their new home. "Ah, the movers are here." He smiled trying to make the change seem less painful than he knew it really was, for Rose especially, "Great timing, now we can get to work unloading then unpacking."

"Damn, Dad, the house is big." Jacob said with more excitement, "Is it old?" He looked to John as the wagon parked behind the moving truck.

"Yeah, built back in the nineteen-twenties I think, I can't remember." John answered his son's enthusiastic question. He turned the wagon off then gestured with a nod of his head that it was time for them to get out and check out their new house. He climbed out but not as fast as Jacob who basically raced down the rest of the drive. He shut the car door, planted his hand on his hip and scanned up the height of the old place while spinning the house keys around and around his finger. The backseat door slammed; he turned and looked seeing misery over his daughter's face. "Come on," he waved a hand gesturing for Rose to follow, "You can have first dibs on whatever room you want." He moved towards the front of the house with hopes giving Rose first option would bring her a bit more out of her miserable shell.

Rose kept a frown while scanning over the massive house. She thought the home was creepy and looked more like it was condemned than livable. She heard her dad call her name and with a heavy foot she reluctantly made her way to the rickety looking front porch. She could hear Jacob constantly shouting 'wow' and 'look at that' and other excited remarks and hated his excitement. Soon her brother's running feet were heard coming up behind her then he raced passed and literally leapt up onto the front porch. "Wow, it's got a balcony thing too!" she listened in disgust to her brother's overly excited observations. She stomped up the front steps, hands shoved in her jacket pockets, and headphones still propped over her ears with the music turned down. "Hurry up, Dad." Jacob repeated over and over while she just rolled her eyes with annoyance.

Before the door was completely opened Jacob went running into the house practically shoving John aside. John stepped aside, outstretched his arm offering Rose entrance before him. He continued to smile though Rose refused to even crack one. His eyes followed as Rose stepped over the threshold with slumped shoulders, head down, and a slow reluctance about each of her heavy steps. He shook his head and entered the house immediately hearing Jacob running around the large house moving through every room saying 'wow' to this and that then shouting out his observations about specific details of everything the kid discovered. He bought the house pretty cheap not having the option to buy anything newly built in more substantial subdivisions. His employment paid for the majority of the house purchase including relocation fees. His eyes scanned about the old house; there was work to be done, some projects had been started by the previous owner. One big project was replacing or blocking the huge window at the top of the stairs which was currently covering by layers of plywood. He stepped up to the elaborate staircase; the place certainly had a type of charm and plenty of its original design elements including the almost Grecian looking statues guarding the foot of the stairs. He was informed that the previous owner had just up and left without word leaving behind much of their belongings which now were stored in the basement and was his responsibility to discard. And he was told that some local hooligans had gotten into the house and busted out every single one of the basement windows, also the one at the top of the stairs.

Rose felt as if she were in hell looking around at the house's dated décor. The house seemed more along the lines of something some old couple would live in or maybe it was more a project for someone more into restoring old houses. There was nothing about the house that felt warm and family inviting. She missed the old house; it was all warm and cozy with more brightly colored walls; the old house was decorated by her mother which also made it more appealing. That old shithole was dark and dingy; smelled like stale ancient dust. Her eyes peered up the staircase and looked to the massive boarded up hole. What the hell was wrong with her dad? Why did he buy something that looked as if were meant to be party central for illegal parties hosted by a bunch of drunken teens? He expected her to live in that thing; her eyes continued to frown in disgust which twisted her lips into a disgusted grimace. Jacob darted passed her and leapt onto the stairs running upward. "The hell you are!" she shouted and raced passed her dad and darted up the stairs. There was no way the little jerk was getting first dibs! She reached out at the landing and grabbed Jacob by the back collar of his denim jacket and jerked him backwards then darted forward.

"Be careful and behave!" John shouted up the stairs then shook his head and headed toward the back of the house to begin assisting the hired movers with unloading the truck, "I'll be out back!"

Rose's instincts told her that double doors meant the best room in the house. She grabbed doorknobs and Jacob raced up behind her. She stood to the side and kicked her foot at him, "Back off, shithead!" she growled at him, "Dad says I get first dibs so back your butt off!"

"He did not!" Jacob refused to believe their dad would give her such a privilege.

Rose held tightly one door knob then leaned towards the boy, "Why not go and ask him? Huh?" she challenged the annoying little brother, "And while you do that I'll be checking out my new bedroom!"

"Fine, I'm gonna." Jacob narrowed his eyes at his big sister while crossing his arms over his chest. He spun around and started yelling loudly for their father.

Rose rolled her eyes hearing Jacob's yelling continue down the stairs. She faced the doors, turned the knobs then pushed both doors open. Finally a smile lifted over her slightly full lips then with her blue eyes widened behind the frames of her glasses she stepped through the opening. The room's décor mimicked that of the rest of the house; more décor telling the house's original age. She stepped further into the room; left it's somewhat entryway and immediately discovered a fireplace to her left. For the first time since she learned they were moving, she was excited. She hurried in front of the fireplace dragging her hands over the intricate mantelpiece. Her mind was already imagining what she would put atop the mantel; family and friend photographs and her mother's wooden jewelry box. She turned around and scanned around the rest of the room mentally rearranging her furniture and imagining them in the right places. Her mind imagined her heavy metal posters and where they would be tacked to the walls. She crossed her arms over her chest while continuing to smile; that was her bedroom; she nodded agreeing with herself. Her eyes looked to one of the windows.

She moved across the room and stepped before the window. She grabbed the hem of the drawn shade and gave it a tug and it snapped, startled her a bit, and then rolled into a loose scroll. Her eyes shifted down from the wound blind then looked through the window which looked directly into the neighbor's window. She lifted up the window letting in the cool fresh air; the room was as stuffy as the rest of the house. Her eyes focused on the neighboring window; wondered who lived there. Feeling the cool air she hugged her arms over her chest. She ducked, leaned her elbows against the sill and poked her head out. Her head shifted side to side looking down the length of the driveway below. She could hear the ruckus of the movers and her brother's big whiny mouth; she smirked knowing he was told the horrible news that she indeed got first dibs. She inhaled in the cool air then slipped back inside, turned and decided to help tell the movers where the furniture went.

Hours and hours passed and slowly the inside of the house was being filled with family belongings and furniture which didn't match the house's vintage décor. Jacob ran in and out and in and out trying to be useful though he was more of a hindrance for the movers. John desperately tried to keep the kid out of the men's way giving the boy his own belongings to put in the other room on the second floor. Rose had already announced her bedroom choice which she bragged had its own fireplace and kept close watch of her bedroom furniture as it was hauled upstairs while she helped unload the back of the wagon that held most of their clothing shoved in trash bags. Cardboard boxes began to fill each room being placed in the center within the circle of furniture.

Rose focused more on her room wanting to get it as familiar and comfortable as soon as possible while everyone else focused on the rest of the house. She put her bed together; her mom's childhood full sized bed with a white painted metal headboard. All the bedroom furniture was passed down to her by her mom after her mom's parents passed away one after the other. All the furniture matched; the dresser, vanity, and bedside tables. She unpacked all her collected items from stuffed animals, her mom's old porcelain doll collection, and tons of framed photos to each and every knick knack collected throughout her seventeen years. Piece by piece her room became more familiar and gradually hid the vintage décor behind new wallpaper in the form of collected heavy metal band posters and massive posters of her fantasy rock god studs who typically ruled their bands as lead singers. Once her record player was set up in some well provided nook over near the double doors she dropped some vinyl then the music that once played through her headphones now played through the two speakers. Her record collection consisted of all heavy metal from its origins to the present and the current spinning and playing was the evil associated Black Sabbath starring the infamous Ozzy Osbourne.

She jammed out to the music, War Pigs blared, while continuing to create her unique version of wallpaper. All windows in the room were open with the music loudly passing through. She bounced around the room with a little head banging tossing about the tousle of strawberry blonde hair that was piled at the crown of her head with a red and white bandana tied around the hairline, the knot at the nap of her neck. She made her bed tucking the blue sheet then tossing on the blue floral comforter followed by the fluffy pillows covered in matching shams. She was in her own little world which typically her bedroom back home always been; now her new room took the original's place. On the mantel she place a few framed photos of her mom followed by many groups pictures of her friends she was forced to abandon. She stopped her little impromptu dance party of one and stared at the images set across the mantel with the wooden music box in the center. Her eyes focused on the widely smiling faces of those abandoned friends which included hers.

One photo she loved; it basically captured the moment she finally got to attend her first heavy metal concert, Dio. The concert was one her greatest achievements having given her all in high school classes just to earn that opportunity. She and her friends piled together in the huge conversion van and went to the concert having the time of their lives though they were seated in the balcony area. One night of pure enjoyment, craziness, and living the teenaged dream with no adults and enjoying heavy metal greatness with the most wicked and magical voice of infamous Ronnie James Dio. Her eyes shifted from the joyous images and looked to the beautiful face of her mother's. For all her life she was told she got her looks from her mother, Anne Garrett, and was proud of that fact. She was told over and over that her mom's genetics kicked the crap out of her dad's which left her with the identical hair, eyes, and much of her features. She pressed her fingertips against her lips then presented the given kiss to the image of her mom. "Love you," she sang with a soft smile then turned away from the fireplace walking to the record player to put an end to hours of making that room her own.

Once the record player was turned off she heard voices coming from outside. Of course she recognized her dad's voice but the other she didn't. She walked to the nearest window and discovered her dad out front of the house on the sidewalk apparently meeting their neighbor; a middle aged woman. She crossed her arms over her chest with her eyes intensely focused on the two smiling faces and listened to the sound of laughter coming from both the neighbor and her dad. Not enjoying the display, she quickly closed the window then jerked down the blind and continued doing so with the other windows. There was a difficulty imagining her dad even chatting with another woman that wasn't her mom.

Anne Garret had passed away two years prior after a failed battle with cancer, Leukemia and for those two years John Garrett never once considered another woman which influenced the daughter's dislike of any sign of happiness with another woman. John smiled wide as he continued to enjoy meeting their nearest neighbor just over the white picket fence, Judy Brewster. He discovered that Judy was an employee at the factory his company had taken over that he was sent to oversee its transfer into the hands of the company. He was eagerly joined by Jacob who came darting out of the house, down the step and jumped right beside him. "And this is my son Jacob." He introduced his son to the kind and giddy new neighbor, "Jacob, this is our new neighbor Judy."

Jacob smiled wide, "Hi."

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest." Judy sang and bent down then pinch a fleshy piece of Jacob's little cheek, "Sort of reminds of Charley when he was that age."

"Oh, your son Charley," John nodded having heard her speak of her son, "How old is he again?"

"He just turned eighteen and graduating way too soon." Judy sang then sighed, "They grow up so fast." She shook her head while smiling down at the cute brown headed and brown eyed little man.

"Yeah, tell me about it." John laughed in agreement, "Rose turns eighteen this coming up February."

"Oh, that's right, you have a daughter too." Judy chimed, "If Charley didn't already have himself a sweetheart...well you know what I mean." She giggled while giving John a light cuff against his upper arm.

John again laughed, "Yeah, well they could always be friends. Rose is gonna need someone to show her around and help her make some new friends."

"Where is your daughter?" Judy asked with curiosity looking over at the house that once sheltered another handsome devil who turned out to be more of a devil than first perceived, "I would love to meet her."

"She's still in her room." Jacob eagerly answered, "She's always in her room even back home."

"Well, that's teenagers for you." Judy giggled, "Only around you when they're hungry or need money; other than that they stay in their room all day or out with their friends." She glanced at her wrist watch, "Well, I have to be going; I'm working the late shift." She reached a tussled Jacob's hair, "Nice to meet you, Jacob." Then she looked to the new handsome and single addition to the neighborhood, "And a pleasure meeting you, John." She offered her hand to who was basically her new boss.

John shook her hand, "Pleasure's all mine, Judy. And, I guess, I'll see you around."

"Oh, well, perhaps this weekend you and your children would like to come over for dinner." Judy quickly offered; not passing up an opportunity.

"That would be great." John nodded in agreement, "How about Saturday."

"That would be wonderful." Judy chimed excitedly, "Saturday at six."

"Great, sounds good to me." John kept his smile.

"Okay," Judy stepped backwards, "Saturday at six then. Bye." She flashed a big smile then turned with an almost girlish giggle.

"She smiles too much." Jacob commented watching the woman sashay away while looking over her shoulder at his dad.

"There's no such thing, Son." John reached over and pinched his son's cheek mocking what Judy had done, "You're just the cutest."

"Dad," Jacob grumbled then knocked his dad's hand away, "That shit hurts."

John's mouth dropped, "Son!"

"What?" Jacob frowned not knowing what he had done wrong, "Rose says it all the time."

"Well, don't use that word again." John scolded though the incident was somewhat humorous. He shifted his son towards the house by the shoulder, "Next time I'll wash your mouth out with soap."

"Ewe," Jacob grimaced, "You gonna wash Rose's mouth out too?"

"We'll see," John held back a laugh, "She might be far too gone to save her."

"Nah," Jacob shook his head, "I wanna see you do it. It'll be funny."

Father and son reentered their now cluttered house looking all out of order with boxes and furniture everywhere. "It's about supper time," John said as it begun to get dark outside, "How about we go to town and check out the pizza joint?"

"Sure!" Jacob smiled wide; pizza was his favorite food in the whole world.

"Hey, Rose!" John yelled at the foot of the stairs, "Rose!"

"What?" Rose came from one of the downstairs rooms, "Why are you yelling?"

"Oh," John turned and faced his daughter, "Get ready, we're gonna take a ride into town and get some pizza."

"Dad," Rose wasn't too keen on getting to know the town or its people, "You and shithead can go."

"See," Jacob spoke up and pointed accusingly at his sister, "Wash her mouth out with soap!" He tugged on his wool lined denim jacket.

Rose frowned glancing at her brother, "Shut up."

"Rose, kinda watch your language around your brother." John attempted a more civilized approach, "He's picking up on the language. And why don't you wanna come?"

"Dad," Rose huffed then ignored the language ridicule, "I just got done doing my entire room. I discovered this huge claw tub in the bathroom and, so, I'm gonna grab my jammies and take me a long soak." She swung around the banister and started up the stairs, "Just bring me some pizza home; pepperoni, please." She continued up the stairs.

John puckered his lips a bit out of frustration then smiled looking down at Jacob. "Well, guess it's just me and you, kiddo." He stated the obvious then grabbed up his winter jacket, adult version of Jacob's.

The water filled the soaker porcelain bathtub while Rose was in the room nearest to the bathroom digging out a towel and washcloth from one of the large trash bags they used for packing cloth items; already having emptied the box labeled bathroom. It was her first day in the house and first time being alone. The entire house was eerily quiet besides the sound of the water running coming through the open bathroom door. She pulled out a pile of towels and washcloths then carried them into the bathroom setting them stacked on the shelving above the toilet. After closing the bathroom door she began removing the clothes she had worn all day long; felt pretty grubby after achieving the goal of getting her room done. The dirty clothes tossed in the corner with the clean pajamas set atop the down lid of the toilet. She turned off the water and stepped one foot followed by the other into the steaming water. The water felt good after spending most of the day working through the fall chill; the house's heating temporarily disabled because of an ill result from a local inspector. It was obvious the fireplaces would have to be relied on for a source of heat.

Once submerged up to the neck in the heated water she slipped the headphones over her ears to again drown out the silence with the use of good old Motley Crue. She closed her eyes and started humming to the heavy metal melody while allowing her body to warm up. Her head did little short bobs as her submerged feet tapped against the bottom of the tub. It was the first time in days she had some alone time, peace and quiet without the rambunctious little problem running around like a hyper active mad child. Then her moment of being deafened by music was interrupted by loud chimes. She quickly sat up and jerked the headphones from her ears. Her eyes frowned while shifting from side to side. She heard what sounded like clocks going off. The sounds were traditional coo-coos, loud chimes; she heard chimes once before at a friend's house which came from a huge grandfather's clock; and there were other different chimes and dings. She knew they were coming from within the house but where?

She grabbed the sides of the tub and pulled up then carefully stepped out the tub onto a towel laid out as a makeshift bath mat; the air was really chill having no heat in the house. She grabbed the large faded blue towel, wrapped it over herself tucking the corner then slowly opened the bathroom door. Her eyes peered out as she listened closely as the array of clock chimes faded in the distance. Where did the sounds come from? Where were the clocks the sounds obviously came from? The only place she could think was the basement; one place she hadn't gone. There was no way in hell she was trekking into some dark and dank basement to investigate the source of those clock sounds. She stepped back and closed the door then locked it; the sounds sort of creepy and almost ghostly. She returned to the bathtub, her teeth already chattering, and again replaced the headphones over her ears but this time cranked up the music just in case any other eerie sounds wanted to pop up and spook her.

By the time Rose finished her bath, scrubbed and hair washed then blow dried, her dad and brother had returned with a couple pizzas. Rose joined them in the kitchen; it too clustered with boxes on the floor and countertops. They dove into the warm pizzas dining on paper plates and drank their sodas from the can. "Dad," Rose spoke up while chewing on a bite of pizza, "When you guys were gone I heard a shitload of clocks going off."

John frowned a bit in thought then it dawned on him, "Oh, I bet there's some clocks in the basement. The previous owner left their stuff and it was stored in the basement."

"It sounded more than just some clocks," Rose commented, "A shitload." She huddled with one arm wrapped while she was bundled under a thick robe and the flannel pajama bottoms and sweatshirt underneath.

John shrugged, "Well, I'll be cleaning the basement out in the morning."

"Good," Rose commented, "What about the heat?"

"Guys are supposed to be here tomorrow afternoon." John explained, he too felt the wintry chill filling the house, "That's why I gotta empty the basement so they can get to the furnace."

"What about tonight?" Rose asked, didn't like the idea of freezing her butt off until then.

John shook his head; he wasn't a magician and couldn't just snap his fingers bringing the furnace to life. "You'll just have to bundle up with blankets." He suggested then took a hefty bite of pizza, "I don't know what else to tell ya. You could crawl in bed with Jacob and me for one night." He saw Rose's face immediately grimace in response to his suggestion.

"Dad," Rose wined and rolled her eyes, "I ain't ten like someone else." She glanced at Jacob who basically showed her his mouthful of food which intensified her grimace, "What about the fireplaces?"

"Can't use them until they're inspected." John was tiring of Rose's reluctance to suffer through one evening without heat.

"Damn it," Rose whined and shook her head with frustration.

"Oh, quit whining, Rose." Jacob chimed in speaking with his mouth overflowing with pizza.

"Shut up, shithead," Rose grumbled at the little annoying sibling, "Was I talking to you, no!"

"Rose, come on." John finally got fed up with Rose's constant attitude changes, "This is our first night in our new home. Let's give a few days before you get all bent outta shape, okay."

"Ain't new," Rose corrected her dad, "It's old, run down, no heat, and just plain creepy." She grabbed another slice of pizza tossing it on her paper plate then tucked a second can of soda in her robe's pocket, "I'm gonna go freeze my ass off in my room." She left the kitchen before any more could be said. She couldn't understand why her dad refused to see her point of view. There was no way she was going to be happy and perky like her little brother. She was practically an adult and had to pack up and leave everything she's ever really known while Jacob had plenty time in his young life to adjust. It was determined before they left that she was going back west when she turned eighteen; her dad didn't know her decision.

She marched up the stairs on her fluffy bunny slippers layered over thick socks. She shuffled over the landing and entered her bedroom. It was dark outside and lighting the room was the outside streetlamps glowing through the seams of the drawn shades. She turned on the lamp set atop the bedside table, set down the pizza and soda, then marched to the closet and hauled out a thick quilt her mom made. After layering the bed with the quilt she went to the record stereo, removed a record from the box filled with her entire collection then slipped the vinyl from its cover and carefully set it onto the turntable. "A little mood music," she softly laughed to herself then turned on the record player. With a little adjustment of the record arm the music of Def Leppard sounded through the rectangular speakers. She hurried back to the bed, climbed beneath the blankets then proceeded to enjoy her pizza and soda while humming to the rock melodies. Her first night in that old house and she was freezing even under the blanket, the pizza had already cooled and the soda was really cold. "This sucks," she grumbled with a mouthful of pizza.

The soda can sat empty atop the besides table along with the paper plate which had one pizza crust. The bedroom was silent as was the rest of the house. The chilled breeze outside could be heard softly whistling through the gaps in the old wood window frames. Rose lay beneath the bundle of blankets with just her sleeping face exposed to the chilly elements. The soft breaths that breathed from her slightly parted lips gradually became more and more visible as the room's temperature seemed to grow colder. Beneath her lids her eyes shifted from side to side then they suddenly darted wide open in a startle. Her eyes shifted as if searching for something. She nervously swallowed, swore she felt as if something was in that room watching her. Her head slowly lifted off the plush pillow looking around the room that was quite dark with exception to the streetlight peaking through the outer seams of the drawn shades. Maybe it was just a dream or the fact the house was creepy and old. She sensed the real iciness of the room, much colder than before she fell asleep; perhaps because it was really late and the outside temperature dropped more. She slowly laid her head back down against the pillow gathering the blankets over her head. "This place sucks," she grumbled from beneath the blankets.

The following day it was basement clean up time. The entire family of three pitched in to attempt clearing out the cluttered basement filled with the previous owner's belongings. Up and down the old cellar stairs and out onto the back lawn boxes upon boxes were stacked and placed. Jacob basically ran up and down the old concrete steps carrying what he could while John carried the heavier stuff which were large wooden crates and all the larger pieces of furniture. Rose stumbled up the steps lugging a few large paintings; "God, who was this guy and what sorta shit did he collect?!" she coughed against the heavy dust while her dad moved passed, "This is a bunch of old shit."

"Seriously, Rose," John shook his head, "Do you really need to say shit with every sentence?"

Rose paused and looked back at John, "No, but I do because it's fun!" she laughed then dropped the three portraits atop the growing pile; portraits of different women. She skipped back towards the basement entrance, "Shit, shit, and shit." She sang then skipped back down into the basement just as Jacob shoved passed carrying a broken lamp, "Watch it shithead." She grumbled and listened to him giggle. She jumped down onto the basement floor then made her way to another random part of the basement. "Hey, Dad!" she called through the large space, "Why'd they leave all their shit!" she giggled saying the word again hearing her dad grumble in the distance.

"I don't know!" John's voice shouted back.

Rose planted her hands on her hips looking around at all the scattered stuff. She crouched down and started digging around in a box. "I mean," she shouted, "Who in the heck leaves so much shit behind?! Some of this shit looks pretty ancient; maybe we can sell some of

it." She lifted out of the box a type of ivory rhinoceros looking horn with intricate designs and turned it side to side studying it. "Quit saying shit!" she heard John shout which prompted her to laugh again. She set the horn down and dug into the box more and lifted up what looked like another piece of ivory in the form of a pretty jewelry box. Her eyes brightened, she loved jewelry boxes, especially ones that looked old. She set the box down and carefully lifted the lid and a sweet melody started to play. "Awe," she smiled, "It's a music box." She said aloud, "Dibs." She grabbed the box the music box was inside then dumped it out and set the music box inside. "Hey, Dad!" she shouted.

"What?!" John's voice shouted.

"Hey, Dad, can I keep some of this shit?!" she asked with a shout.

"Yeah, as long as you stop saying shit!" John called back as he carried another huge crate towards the basement entrance.

"Okay!" she agreed but most likely will be saying shit by the end of the day. She grabbed the cardboard box containing the music box then marched through the basement. She went up the steps as Jacob darted down. She grumbled then stepped outside moving towards the pile to begin picking through the crates her dad brought up.

"You can pick through it later after we get all of it out here." John commented making his way back to the basement.

Rose shrugged then went to the first wooden crate.

Inside her room with Dio playing on the record player, Rose set the very delicate ivory music box beside her mother's wooden jewelry box. She stepped back looking proud of her find. She had gone through just about everything her dad managed to haul outside before the furnace guys showed up; the basement still held plenty more of the previous owner's belongings. She was amazed with how much stuff the past owner had and had left behind. The house was warmer now that furnace was working and up to date; no need for layers upon layers of clothes, she could now walk around in her barefoot while wearing one of her many band tees and pajama bottoms. She moved across the floor towards the window that faced the neighbors; her dad mentioned that the single lady next door had a son. She reached and slowly lifted the shade; there was a light on in the neighboring window. Her eyes, peering through her glasses, peered over at the neighboring window wondering what the neighboring son looked like; be nice to have a cute guy next door. She startled upon seeing a definite teen guy move passed the window obviously turning on the television. Oh, he wasn't bad looking; she slightly smiled. Then he turned and startled the moment he saw her through the window and she startled in response. She panicked, "Shit!" and quickly jerked down the shade but it snapped back up forcing her to quickly dart from the window slamming back against the poster image of Bret Michaels who looked like a beautiful woman in the Heavy Metal glam style.

She grimaced at her behavior; great, she started her new high school the next morning and just made an ass out of herself. "Shit," she pouted crossing her arms over her chest covering the zombie image of Iron Maiden's mascot Eddie.

Rose lay on her back in the middle of the full sized bed with the blankets kicked down; the furnace was sure working. She was sound asleep having gone to bed at her typical school night schedule, eleven. As she lay there her arms gathered up hugging around her chest and slowly her legs bent at the knees; the temperature in the room dropped. Half asleep she sluggishly sat up and fumbled for the blankets then jerked them up as she flopped back down with her head hitting the pillow. She huddled beneath the sheet and comforter slightly trembling in response to the quick drop in temperature. Passed her lips her breaths were visible; the room chilled down to an icy degree. "Suckee furnace," she sleepily mumbled with her teeth lightly chattering. Her eyes quickly snapped open upon hearing what sounded like the melody of the ivory music box begin to play. She darted up with her eyes shifting towards the shadowed fireplace mantel; the outside streetlight creating heavy shadows throughout the room making it creepy though the music box's sweet melody seemed to make it even creepier.

Reluctantly she got out from under the blanket, the room heavy with that icy chill. With arms hugged around her she walked towards the fireplace on her bare tiptoes hating the chill of the hardwood. At the fireplace her eyes widely stared at ivory music box; the lid was raised which was the reason the melody played but how did it come open? She quickly brought down the lid and oddly felt the room's temperature begin to rise. She still trembled but more in response to the really creepy vibe she was getting. "This house really sucks." She said with a chatter then spun and literally leapt back onto the bed quickly throwing the blankets over her head, "Really, really sucks." Her muffled and chattering voice whined.

The next morning Rose had to fight for the only bathroom in the house to get ready for her first day of a new high school hell. She still was a bit creeped out by the little music box incident but didn't mention it to her dad who was nervous about his first day as the new boss of the local factory. Jacob was dropped off at his elementary school then Rose was brought to the high school where her dad handed her the transfer papers and instructed she had to report immediately to the office. She got out of the huge station wagon seeing the high school swarmed by teenaged strangers and loathed having to be the new kid. She stood there as the station wagon drove off leaving her to go it alone. She took a deep breath then stepped forward almost running into a few of her new peers who just grimaced at her. Yep, gonna hate it there; she thought to herself.

Rose sat on a bench in the high school office holding her past school records and transfer papers while people strolled by not paying her any mind. She already heard both the warning and first class bells go off which meant she was late for her first class, whatever that was. Finally the woman behind the counter waved for her to step up. She rose up and stepped to the counter then handed over all her information; been in the same school system all her seventeen years.

"Okay, Miss Garrett, here is your class schedule." The woman behind the desk explained and handed Rose the single sheet of paper, "Charley Brewster!" the woman snapped having caught a late arrival and perfect candidate to show the new girl to her first class, "Charley Brewster!" she repeated with stern watching eighteen year old senior Charley Brewster shrug with his head dropping back, "That's it, come here!"

Rose turned her head; oh it was her neighbor guy. She quickly turned her head feeling her face begin to blush.

"Hey, Mrs. Trimble," Charley Brewster greeted the stern faced office head; he was late again and had hoped he could've gotten by the office without being called out, "Sorry I'm late, again, but I had car troubles and my Mom…"

"I'll let it slide, this time." Mrs. Trimble stated.

"Ah, thanks," Charley sighed in relief.

"But," Mrs. Trimble grinned watching Charley's relief quickly diminish, "On the account if you show Miss Garrett to her first class that you are no doubt late for, Mr. Brewster."

Charley looked to his left at the new arrival; it was his new neighbor that practically scared the shit out of him after finding her in that all too ominous neighboring window.

Rose reluctantly looked to her right at Charley. "Hi," she awkwardly greeted seeing he recognized her from the window.

"Well," Mrs. Trimble spoke up, "Show her to her class or we could arrange after school detention, Mr. Brewster."

"Okay, Mrs. Trimble," Charley somewhat grumbled then rolled his eyes, "Come on." He waved for Rose to follow him. He continued to shake his head stepping out of the office. "God, I hate that woman." He commented, more so to himself but heard Rose giggle at his comment. He turned his head and looked to his new neighbor; she was cute in an awkward sorta way. "You just moved in next door to me, right?" he asked as the hallways were empty with exception to a couple late stragglers, "My Mom mentioned she met your dad and little brother."

"Yeah," Rose gave a simple answered.

"How you liking it here so far?' he asked; yet he couldn't imagine anyone living the house that her family now lived in. For a year he had set aside what happened within those walls of 99 Oak and so had most of the city and had no desire to bring it up.

"I don't know," she answered, "I don't know anyone, yeah, so it really sucks."

"It ain't all bad." He stated though there was some serious bad stuff he personally knew but was desperate to forget, "Everything's pretty quiet." Yeah, now that something wasn't around.

"I don't like the house." She confessed, "It's old and creepy. Like something out of some cheesy vampire flick or something like it."

He momentarily froze hearing her comment; vampires. He shook it off. "Yeah, it's not too pretty to look at." he agreed, every time he looked at the damned house it always made him remember those nightmarish things that happened a year ago.

"Tell me about it," she huffed, "Hey, do you know anything about the previous owners because they sure left a shitload of stuff behind."

He paused and reluctantly looked at her then quickly shook his head, "Nah, they didn't live there long." He vaguely explained; nope, no details.

"They?" she curiously asked and almost bumped into him when he went to a stop before a closed classroom door.

"Yeah," again he vaguely spoke, "Well, we're here. Mr. Green is cool and pretty much has us silently reading while he naps." He didn't want to speak about 99 Oak any more, actually, never again. He swung open the door and was greeted loudly by Mr. Green the Lit teacher, "Late again, Charley!"

Rose was anxious to get home which meant waiting for her dad at the high school curb. Nope, didn't make any friends besides the cute Charley Brewster who barely spoke to her the rest of the day while he and his apparent girlfriend shared lunch together while she sat huddled at the end of one of the large tables picking at typical high school food. She didn't say a word getting into the station wagon, her brother already picked up, babbled on and on about all the friends he made while riding shotgun. She and Jacob were dropped off at home; John had to return to the factory. Yep, now she had to babysit her annoying brother. She paused on the walkway noticing a nice red Mustang parked in the neighboring driveway; well, at least Charley Brewster got his own car. She shrugged and reluctantly took the responsibility of keeping an eye on Jacob who immediately raced to the kitchen for an after school snack. She retreated upstairs to drop of her loaded down book bag then slipp returned downstairs to get herself a Coke while Jacob was already messing with the old console television. She flopped down on the sofa while Jacob sat before the television hypnotized by after school cartoons. She lifted a heavy metal magazine before her eyes to block out the television; an image of the proclaimed prince of darkness Ozzy on the cover. She had her headphones on blocking out the sounds of Bugs Bunny with the thrashing sounds of Judas Priest and the killer vocals of lead singer Rob Halford.

Finishing an in depth article about the German band Scorpions, one of her all time favorites; Rose set the magazine down and stood to fetch another Coke. She moved through the house while humming in tune with Halford's powerful vocals. As she entered the kitchen, through the headphones she heard that loud array of clocks going off in the basement. She pulled the headphones back while frowning; her eyes looked up at the clock hung on the kitchen wall and it said it was six and passed the kitchen window above the sink showed it was a tad beyond dusk. The chimes and coo-coos faded then she startled upon the entire house going dark; the power went out. "Rose!" she heard Jacob shouting from the living room. "Its okay!" she shouted back, "This house is old, shithead, and a fuse probably blew!" She somewhat blindly moved through the kitchen, bumped the table then a chair and felt her way to the counter. She fumbled around hearing Jacob call out to her again, "Hold on!" she shouted, "I'm gonna find a flashlight!" She felt for the drawers, pulled each one open along the line of the counter digging her hands inside trying to feel for a flashlight. Her fingers finally struck gold; she grabbed the flashlight then lifted it hitting the switch; the beam shined in her face and she winched.

She used the flashlight to guide her from the kitchen then through the house returning to the living room. She shined the beam of light on her brother, "You okay, shithead?" she asked him as he lifted his hand blocking the light from his eyes, "You stay put and I'll go down into the basement and see if I can get the lights back on." She watched him nod; he looked a bit frightened which she didn't blame him since the house was creepier being shrouded in complete darkness. She took a deep breath and marched through the house, moved through the dining room and stepped to the closed basement door. Another deep breath, she opened the door and shined the light down the curved stairwell that led into the probably worst place to go in that old house. She stepped down and carefully moved down the stairwell on her bare feet desperate not to freak herself out. She hated the smell of old basements; dust, mold, and other old basement smells. Her bare foot dropped down on the concrete floor at the bottom of the stairs and she scanned the flashlight beam through that eerie creepiness. She had a vision of a huge monstrous fuse box and stepped further with a creepy feeling causing goose bumps over her exposed arms; the house was getting chilly since the furnace was also shut down by the blown fuse.

She felt lost in that huge basement; found the dead furnace and all the leftover belongings of the previous own. The flashlight reflected off something and she squinted through her glasses seeing a slightly exposed something standing tall near the far wall. She moved toward the dusty sheet covering and caught a peak of reflective gold. She reached out, grabbed the sheet and pulled back unveiling a standing grandfather clock; nodded knowing she recognized the low sounding chime. She again scanned the flashlight searching for the fuse box, "Come on, where the hell are ya?" she mumbled under her breath feeling the temperature steadily getting colder; damned house must have some serious drafts. "Gotchya!" she grinned then shuffled forward but stumbled upon running into a box which toppled over spilling its unsealed contents. She darted the light down discovering an array of music cassettes. She crouched down and picked up the first one; an unlabeled recording cassette and upon inspection they were all the same. "Huh," she started tossing the cassettes back into the box then lifted the box off the floor; got herself more music, maybe. She stepped to the fuse box propping the flashlight under her chin, opened the squeaky metal door and eyed the inside. My lips puckered as she eyed what were circuit breakers instead of fuses which were better than damned fuses. She reached to what looked like the main breaker then with a little struggle she flipped the breaker and her brother's loud cheers sounded down into the basement. "Damn straight," she proudly stated having brought light and warmth back to the old house.

Around eight John returned home bearing a feast of burgers and fries from the local burger joint. All three sat down at the dining room table and feasted on the greasy burgers and equally greasy fries which were also overly salted. Rose proudly stated her night's achievement of having rescued her and Jacob from hours of sitting in darkness. Near nine John tucked Jacob into bed as Rose retreated to the bathroom to enjoy another soak while investigating her find from the basement. She sat immersed in steaming hot water up over her bust and slipped one of the unlabeled cassettes into her Walkman and hit play then tucked the headphones over her ears. Her eyes frowned upon hearing what was instrumental music; electronic instrumental music with keyboards and what sounded like an electric violin, no vocals. She checked another cassette and it too had similar instrumental music; over and over she discovered each cassette having the same type of music. Upon the last cassette she frowned; it sounded like an instrumental version of the ivory music box's melody but unlike the other songs there was a type of vocal, sounded so haunting. She listened further hearing the high pitch of an electric violin that struck higher and higher with powerful notes and melody. She turned off the Walkman and removed the cassette tossing it into the box then slipped her typical metal favorites and relaxed back against the slant of the large soaker claw foot tub.

Rose said goodnight to her dad who sat in the living room with the news on while he was buried deep in business papers. She carried the box of cassettes upstairs and into her bedroom setting it near her box of records. She stepped to the bedside table and switched on the lamp but startled the moment she swore something moved from the corner of her eye. She spun and her eyes shifted side to side scanning the room. Her eyes continued to frown as they anxiously looked to every corner of the room. Again she felt the room temperature begin to drop, seemingly drop at a rapid pace. Her arms hugged over her chest feeling the chill and started to shiver while standing perfectly still within the silence of her room and the entire house; couldn't hear the television. She pried her feet from the floor and shuffled anxiously across the floor and went to the double doors. Upon opening the door she shouted, "Dad, is the heat on?" She could feel heat just outside the door and her dad confirmed with a shout that heat was definitely on. Reluctantly she stepped back closing the door. Something really weird was up with her bedroom and she didn't like it. Maybe, she thought, it was a draft through the fireplace. She moved to the fireplace and reached a hand down but felt no draft. She again huddled her arms around her. Her eyes drifted upward and looked to the ivory music box.

She took a step back with her eyes focused on the music box. Her mind scrambled with so many scenarios that were happening. In the past two years since her mother's passing she had gotten somewhat desperate for a type of resolution concerning her mom. Her head darted and looked to the closet then her feet scrambled across the floor. She flung open the door then lifted up on her tiptoes reaching up to the closet's top shelf and her hand tucked under a quilt grabbing a somewhat flat box. She dropped down on her feet then turned to the bed. She crawled atop the bed gathering and wrapping the floral comforter around her shoulders. Her eyes looked down at the worn card board box of what looked like a board game but not just any board game, an Ouija board to be exact. She removed the lid and looked down at a traditional Ouija board with an eye shape form of the alphabet, yes and no at the top corners, hello and goodbye at the bottom corners, and within that letter eye zero through nine. She lifted the board sliding the box back and rested the board before her atop the bed. She reached and removed the planchett and set it in the center of the board. So many times she desperately tried to communicate with her departed mother but stopped after a year. Was she possibly being contacted by her mom or was it something in that house?

She anxiously shook her hands trying to loosen up her fingers then wiggled them nervously while nearing them towards the planchett. She trembled from the cold and nervousness. Before her fingertips could touch the planchett, it suddenly budged which caused her to lean back with a startled gasp. Her wide eyes rapidly blinked; had she imagined it? She again gasped with startle as it again moved; she hadn't even spoken a word or asked a question or even touched the thing. Her eyes shifted with the planchett which slowly turned to the left. She was frozen with fear; never had she seen a single movement from it in all the times she attempted to use it. She leaned further back pressing against the metal headboard. Her eyes grew wider upon following the planchett inching slowly turning itself upside down, the point aimed at a downward angle. Her lips trembled while lightly gaping; her breath visible upon striking the icy air. Her eyes darted as the planchett suddenly scraped across the board and skidded stopping over 'hello'. What the hell was happening?! Was she seeing what she was seeing?! "Ah," she mumbled and fearfully neared her trembling right hand towards the stopped planchett, "Ah, um…hello…"

Her fingertips finally touched the planchett and it felt as if it were icy just as the air. She anxiously licked her lips then pressed them together as she dared bringing her left fingertips against the planchett. "Ah, hello," she greeted with her voice shaky, "Um, Mom?" she dared to ask and she again startled, jerked her hands back as the planchett darted diagonally up the board stopping over 'no'. "Ah, ah," she mumbled, her body trembled uncontrollably and again she dared bringing both sets of fingertips to the planchett, "Ah, again, hello," she again spoke, "Do I, um, know you?" she asked but this time she didn't startle when the planchett made a quick jerk down then dart back over the 'no'; her fingertips barely touching it. "Okay, well," she tried to calm her nerves, "Was this your house?" she asked and gasped as the planchett delivered her fingertips across the board to 'yes'. "Okay," she gave a short nod, "Ah, the stuff in the basement…" before she could finish the question the planchett shifted back then darted over 'yes'. "Huh," she somewhat laughed, had a mind reader for a ghost, "So, obviously you're dead and that's why your stuff is in the basement." She commented aloud; great someone died in the house. Suddenly the planchett again did its quick movements agreeing with her mental note. She swiftly pulled her hands back not liking the idea that who or whatever it was that was speaking through the Ouija could read her next thought.

Her eyes stared widely at the planchett; terrified of even thinking anything. Maybe it was a bad idea that she whipped out the Ouija. "Alright, whoever you are," she started to speak but silenced then her eyes darted trying to keep pace with the swiftly moving planchett. Her mind gathered each letter it pointed to; apparently it was introducing itself. Her eyes frowned as the letters formed a name in her head. "Jerry," she spoke the spelled out name aloud, the planchett darted to 'yes'. "Um, hi," she swallowed hard, "Ah, Jerry." She startled again upon the planchett darting to 'hello'. "Yeah, maybe we should say goodbye now, Jerry." She spoke as she breathed heavily, her breath still visible. Her eyes frowned; the planchett went to 'no'. "Um, yeah," she nodded, was she seriously conversing with a damned Ouija board. Suddenly the planchett started to move in rapid circles against the board; her eyes tried to keep watch then she gasped the moment the planchett flew off the board. "Oh, that's not good," she mumbled now knowing she had made a terrible mistake having messed with the Ouija board and what had come through it.

A planchett leaves the board on its own accord; the speaking spirit is released.

She quickly grabbed the board and crammed it into the box then reached and frightfully snatched the planchett tossing it atop the board then placed the lid back on. She rushed and literally tossed the so called spirit board game into the closet then slammed the door. Her breathes continued heavy but gradually became invisible as the room's temperature raised. She sighed with relief then looked to her bed; she really didn't want to sleep in that room alone. "Oh, this is going to be a long night." She whined a little knowing she couldn't go downstairs and tell her dad she messed with an Ouija board he didn't know about and didn't want to sleep in her own bed. She stepped to the bed and sat down looking around the room. "Okay," she spoke aloud, "Maybe you're not still in here because the cold is gone but, please, if you're still here just go away and don't come back, okay, Jerry whoever you are." She lifted her legs while shifting on her rear and pulling back the sheet. Very cautiously she slipped her legs under the sheet then gathered the comforter over her. Her eyes continued to look about the room; afraid to turn out the lamp and refused to do so. "Just go away," she whispered tucking the blanket over her head, "Go away."

The lamp atop the table lamp started to flicker, first very subtly then gradually dimmed and brightened with a type of strange pulse. The bedroom was cooling, dropping degree by degree in sync with the lamp's pulses. Hours had passed and Rose had fallen asleep with her head covered but upon the lamp's rapid pulses the blanket slowly lowered under her squinting eyes, peered at the lamp. Immediately she felt the drop in temperature and once her whole head was uncovered her breaths were visible. Her eyes blinked against the pulsating dimming and brightening flashes. Her eyes slowly shifted and looked across her room. The lamp started to dim all way into darkness then suddenly brighten creating a strobe light effect. She slowly sat up as her eyes tried to focus where the short entryway was; the room was freezing. Before her straining and blinking eyes she kept catching what looked like a black silhouette forming at the entryway. Was she dreaming? Was she having a nightmare? The cold felt damned real as did the quick visuals of her breaths. Her body started to tremble as her eyes were frozen in a stare; each quick flash of light seemed to bring that silhouette more into a human shape. Suddenly the bulb in the lamp made a loud pop and the room was swallowed by darkness; she screeched and quickly dropped back and ducked under the covers.

She lay there under the covers, seemed like forever, her body still trembling while hearing her own deep and erratic breaths. Everything was too quiet, eerily quiet with only the sound of her breathing. She was too frightened to actually pull back the covers, afraid to see something even more frightening. "Go away," she whispered with a tremble and eyes squeezed tightly closed. She startled the moment that damned ivory music box started to chime its now creepy melody. "Go away," she spoke a bit louder while bringing her hands over her ears trying to block out the eerie tune. She started humming loudly one of her metal tunes and gradually she started singing the words to the song Paradise City by Guns N Roses desperate to drown out the music box. "_Take me down to the Paradise City_," she sang, "_Take me down to the Paradise City where the grass is green and the girls are pretty_," she continued to sing, "_Oh, won't you please take me home_…_ yeah-ya…take me home, yeah-ya_." She hummed then started to sing again, "_So, far away…so far away…so far away._" She went silent, the music box stopped. She slowly sat up while inching down the blankets from over her head. Her eyes pried open, first the right then the left. Through the room her eyes scanned trying to catch any glimpse of anything remotely really scary; that silhouette. She felt the temperature again begin to warm.

Maybe it went away; she hoped. Who knew that Guns N Roses could ward of a ghost? She slowly laid back, her trembling hands loosening their grip of the blankets. Her eyes peered up at the ceiling as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She carefully rolled onto her side tugging the covers over her shoulder. She lay there staring at the closet door with hopes that whatever just happened would never happen again. Maybe she should get rid of the board. Maybe she shouldn't have screwed with the board in the first place. Her eyes shifted and saw the white ivory music box; maybe she should've thrown the music box out with the other stuff instead of confiscating it. "No," A voice spoke and her entire body stiffened with fear. Did she just hear that? "Yes," there it was again; she felt the urge to scream but was too scared to scream. Her body remained stiff while gradually she started trembling. She couldn't tell where those answers were coming from but they were answering her mental questions, just like the board did. That couldn't be possible, she tried to convince herself. "Ah, but it is." The voice again spoke from somewhere in the room. "Go away!" she whispered loudly.

"I can't." the voice again spoke.

"Yes you can." She disagreed, "Just go away, please."

"I would if I could." The voice replied.

She breathed heavily through her nose, her nostrils flared as her eyes remained wide and almost teary with fear. "Why not?" she asked; seriously was she having a conversation with a damned ghost.

"Because I'm stuck here." The voice answered, "I'm always going to be stuck here."

She heard actual angry frustration in the voice. "Well, leave me alone then." She suggested refusing to shift her eyes or rise up or move at all.

"You shouldn't have said hello." The voice commented.

"You said it first." She quickly stated, "You shouldn't have said hello and," she tossed back her covers and slowly sat up, "You shouldn't of never taken the planchett off the board."

"Ah, but I did." The voice stated, "I knew what I was doing because if I hadn't I wouldn't be speaking to you right now."

"Oh, then you're a bad ghost." She commented without shifting her eyes, kept them forward.

"Perhaps," the voice said, "If you didn't want to speak to me then you shouldn't have brought out the spirit board."

"But you were already here." She stated; couldn't tell where the voice was coming from, "You've been making it get cold, you been playing the music box, and you caused the breaker to trip when those clocks went off. So, I had nothing to do with why you're here just only why you're talking to me, that's all."

"No, you aren't the reason why I'm stuck." Again the voice sounded frustrated, "I'm stuck because I died in that damned basement."

She suddenly startled upon hearing the one of the window shades dart up. She finally shifted and looked to find the neighbor facing window's shade up. "Stop it," she slightly whined.

"He's why I'm stuck, why I'm dead." The voice said with growing rage.

"Charley Brewster, my neighbor?" she asked, confused and not sure if she wanted to know any more details, "I don't wanna know." She shook her head.

"Ah, but I finally have someone to tell it to." The voice stated, "Don't take that away from me, Rose."

She slightly gasped hearing it speak her name.

"I've been stuck here for a damned year while that little son of a bitch goes on living." The voice explained with bitterness, "He and that damned Peter Vincent," The voice seemingly growled, "How they managed to do it; it dumbfounds me till this day. I know how but I'm baffled how they managed to do it. They actually killed _me_!" the voice grew angrier and the room's temperature rapidly plummeted.

"I don't wanna hear anymore." She shook her head with her eyes fearfully scanning the room for any physical sign of where the voice was coming from. She could again see her breath in the subtle darkness. Her arms lifted and hugged over her chest. "Please just go away." She pleaded, "I'm sorry I spoke to you, I won't mess with the board again I promise."

"I'm not sorry you spoke to me and there is no need for the board is there?" the voice questioned, "Once the planchett went off the spirit board I was freed of most limitations. Thanks, Rose."

"No, don't thank me." She shook her head again, "I ain't thanking me. I made a huge mistake now I'm paying for it. Why couldn't you've been my Mom instead of whoever you are?"

"Jerry Dandridge," the voice spoke the full name, "You look like your mother."

"Huh," she mumbled, "What?"

"The photo, your mother," The voice of Jerry Dandridge explained; the voice of Charley Brewster's neighbor vampire long believed completely destroyed spoke but he was simply delivered into a type of purgatory where he was condemned to be a permanent spectral resident of his final home. "She was very beautiful." He commented as through his spectral eyes he stared at the framed photo of Rose's mother as it set atop the fireplace mantel. His eyes shifted and looked to the searching young lady, "As you are beautiful."

Oh great, Rose grumbled in thought, a ghost was complimenting her. She heard a laugh. "Stop that," she spoke, "Why you gotta read my thoughts? How the hell are you reading my thoughts? Oh, this sucks, really fucking sucks."

"Think of my situation," He commented, "I'm stuck in a house I never had a chance to finish restoring while everything I've collected is thrown out besides the few things you've kept. Now it's been made that I've never even existed when I've existed a lot longer than anyone in this pathetic little town, state, or even country."

She blinked, confused by what the hell he was trying to say. "Go away!" she shouted then flopped back and jerked the covers back over her head, "You don't exist! You're a stupid bad dream! I'll wake up tomorrow and you won't be here!"

"No I won't," he agreed, "Not until the clocks go off. Can't believe I have to suffer the same damned routine in death as I did in life."

She jerked the blankets off her face with her eyes frowned, "What?!"

"When the clocks chime dusk here I am and when they chime dawn there I go." He explained with annoyance, "The same as when I was alive. This is my hell and now you're part of it."

"No I'm not!" she disagreed, "You're dead, I'm not and what are you talking about?!" She again sat up.

"Charley didn't mention me did he?" he asked standing leaned against the fireplace and watched her shake her head, "Oh but of course he didn't. Why would he? I'm positive the entire damned town won't even mention me to you or your family. I know the realtor sure in the hell didn't mention me to your father. She made it sound as if I up and vanished without word leaving all my belongings." He shook his head, "How I used to love my solitude, kept to myself and did everything to make sure no one truly knew I existed. Well, I got what I wanted for the only ones who remember me are Charley Brewster, Amy Peterson, and that washed up Peter Vincent but," he slightly smiled, "Now you will remember me."

"I don't want to," she quickly stated, "And you're not even answering any of my questions. Wait, don't." she shook her head, "Just stop talking to me and go away."

"Again, I'm not going anywhere because I can't." he snarled crossing his arms over his chest, "Ask Charley about his previous neighbor Jerry Dandridge and see what reaction you get. Maybe he'll say something or maybe he won't. Most likely he's been desperate to forget about me the little bastard. I should've just taken him out of the equation when I truly had the chance instead of messing around."

"Oh, you are bad." She gasped jerking the covers nearer her chest, "What did you do to him? Wait, I need to stop asking questions because I don't wanna know anything about you."

"Too late, you asked." He smirked, "I guess it doesn't make a difference if you know what I am or should I say, was because, well, I'm dead." He stepped away from the fireplace, "What I tried to do to Charley Brewster was eliminate a problem, my problem. I did, however, give him the option to forget about me and what he had seen of me but unfortunately he didn't take that option which left me no choice to make an attempt on his life. Typically I don't make attempts, I succeed but as fate has it, I didn't succeed which undoubtedly made him succeed, hence, I'm dead." He paused before the bed, "Charley discovered my secret, a secret I've successfully kept for a very, very long time. Sure, there have been other close calls but nonetheless the secret was kept. He tried desperately to convince people of my secret but most thought he was simply a lunatic teenager. He even attempted to alert the police but that thankfully failed. Even Peter Vincent didn't believe at first. His girlfriend," he paused, ah, sweet and innocent Amy with an all too familiar face, "Yes, his girlfriend and best friend didn't believe him and did their best to convince him that I wasn't what he said I was. Peter was the first to be convinced because of a little mirror. I took every precaution necessary; brought the best friend to my side then focused on the girlfriend. Everything I did to maintain my secret was done in vain because, here I am, stuck likely forever inside these walls." His eyes scanned the walls that were once beautifully tasteful and hung with those lovely portraits but now cluttered over my long haired musicians wearing feminine makeup.

"Okay, you told me whatever so now get lost!" she said then again flopped backwards tugging the covers back over her head.

"I'm already lost," he snapped.

She gasped loudly; the covers were jerked off her. Her eyes went wide and she quickly asked, "How'd you do that?"

"Like I said," he spoke with a smirk, "I am now void of limitations."

"Bullshit," she commented and sat up again, "If you were then why can't I see you?"

"Do you want to see me?" he curiously asked, "Would you like to see the bad ghost you've been conversing with?"

"Actually, no I don't." she shook her head, "That'll just make it worse."

"Might make it better." He smugly stated.

She frowned hearing his arrogance. "No," she shook her head, "I already don't wanna hear you so, no, don't wanna see you." She snatched her covers, again flopped down against the bed jerking the covers over her head, "Goodbye, Jerry Dandridge!" Again her covers were jerked off her, "Stop that!" she whined and snatched them again but that bothersome something seemed to have a hold of them, "Let go! Gah, this is nuts!" She grabbed a pillow then flopped down covering her head, gathered her legs up, "I'm officially shit crazy!"

"No, you're not." He commented with a little laugh and stepped around the corner of the bed and stepped along the side, "But I do question your taste in music, if that's what you call it."

"I can say the same about you." She mumbled while keeping her head hidden under the pillow, "Your music is creepy like you are."

"Strange, I've never been called creepy." He stated looking down at her poor attempt to block him, "In fact, most young ladies, actually all women of any age even men have always found me irresistible."

"Yeah, too bad no one can see you." She sarcastically commented.

"I'll let you see me." He stated with his signature slanted grin.

"No thanks," she spoke with her voice somewhat muffled under the pillow, "Again, go away before my Dad wakes up and thinks I've lost my damned mind!"

"I'm not going anywhere, can't and won't." he firmly stated, "I spent a damned year in this house alone besides the occasional urban legend seekers but they stopped months ago. So," he sat down on the edge of the bed, "Now that my voice is being heard, I refuse to relinquish that opportunity."

"You're sitting on my bed aren't you?" she asked, felt the distinct motion as if someone had sat down.

"Yes I am," he answered, "If you would, uncover your head."

"No," she refused.

"I would like for you to see who you've been speaking to, see your ghost and know you're not insane." He urged then leaned back against the headboard, "Please, it'll be nice to finally have someone look at me instead of through me. I have spent my entire life having young ladies such as yourself immediately look at me and unable to stop looking at me." He missed his life which seemed shorter than expected though he was approximately a thousand years old when his immortal life was taken.

"You sound conceded." She commented, "You're full of yourself or was…or whatever."

"There is nothing wrong knowing how attractive you are." He stated, "I promise you won't be disappointed if you take just a peek."

She grumbled under the pillow, "I need sleep, unlike you, I have to get up in the morning; again, unlike you." She continued to sarcastically grumble, "I have a life unlike you. I need to sleep, unlike you, so, yeah, just vanish already."

He shook his head then rose up off the bed. "Fine," he was disappointed, "I'll leave you to your sleep." His eyes focused on her keeping his silence. He watched closely as she finally lifted the pillow off her head obviously believing he had vanished as she requested.

She slowly sat up with her eyes shifting as her hands reached for the covers. She didn't hear another word; had she been dreaming? Was she just waking up from a really annoying dream or was it a nightmare? She slowly shifted on her rear while bringing the covers over her. Very cautiously she started to shift onto her right side with her head following then her eyes. Upon her eyes catching up with her body she suddenly startled with a short screech then scrambled backwards across the bed. She dropped backwards off the bed and hit the floor with a thud while her legs were up and against the side of the bed. She groaned while lying on her back on the floor and heard a pretty amused laugh. "Why?!" she asked with a loud pout in her tone, "Why did you do that?! I said I didn't want to see you!" She dropped her legs to the floor then sat up, "You scared the shit out of me, again!" She refused to get back onto the bed, didn't want to look at him again though she really didn't get a good look which was the way she wanted it to remain. "Damn you, just leave me the hell alone!" she whined and leaned back against the wall crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

"Yes, I'm damned." He agreed now looking down at her.

She shook her head getting sick and tired of him talking to her. "That's it!" She quickly rose up, scrambled onto the bed and crawled across it then snatched the Walkman off the bedside table. She put the headphones over her ears, pressed the play button, and turned the volume to the max, "Make him go away, Mr. Rob Halford!" she said loudly then flopped on her side, grabbed the covers then hiked them over her head listening to the British steel metal god deafen her to any more unwanted babbles from a dead guy. She hummed to the music, loved the melody of Turbo Lover. Beneath the covers she hugged the Walkman against her chest, tightly closed her eyes and wanted nothing but to fall asleep and wake in the morning where there would be no ghost bothering her.

"Rose!" a voice shouted down at her.

"Go away," Rose grumbled; the cassette had stopped upon the side ending.

"Rose, get up or you'll be late for school and on your second day there." John jerked the blankets off his daughter who loudly groaned, "Get your butt outta bed. You have fifteen minutes!"

Rose slowly rolled until her feet hit the floor. Sleepily she rose up; it was all a horrible nightmare; so she hoped. She sluggishly gathered up some clothes and book bag then made her sleepy way downstairs to the bathroom. When she finally came out of the bathroom both her brother and father stood at the front door, both with their arms crossed impatiently waiting for her. Her head leaned back and shoulder slumped as she shuffled to the door adjusting the heavy book bag against her shoulder then followed John and Jacob out the door. She was so damned tired, just as if she spent far too long being tormented by a damned ghost. In her first hour she spent it with her head down against the desktop, Mr. Green paid no mind while there were numerous other students asleep in his class. Charley Brewster noticed Rose's sleepiness and tried his best to ignore it; perhaps another visit with his therapist after school to help ease his concerns.

By the lunch hour Rose was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep the rest of the day away. She napped during lunch instead of eating the slopped mashed potatoes, water soaked corn, and something that looked like meat in gravy. The rest of the day went creeping by until she was called to the office towards the end of the final hour. She dragged herself to the office where Mrs. Trimble informed her that she was to walk home or take the bus and that her brother was staying after school at a friend's; her father wasn't picking her up. She simply nodded with a sluggish 'okay' then stepped into the hallway just as the final bell rang. She headed straight for the nearest exit. She marched down the front steps and began the march back home. Yet, when she walked into the center of that town her eyes looked to the directional sign for the local public library. Had she dreamt that she talked to some psycho and really annoying ghost? She had a name, that name stuck in her head; maybe it was just something in the dream. She stepped to the left and followed the signs leading her to the public library.

Rose stepped out of the library looking pretty pale, not from exhaustion but because she found stuff she didn't want to find back inside all those local newspaper archives. Her brain was on overload. The name that supposed dream gave, Jerry Dandridge; yeah, he had definitely lived in her house. The creepy ghost of her new home, 99 Oak, was the ghost of a man assumed a serial killer; lopped the heads off his victims with the help of some guy named Billy Cole. Her entire body felt numb as she stood for a brief moment before the library fearful of going home to that house to be alone with a dead murderer. "I don't wanna," she whined under a deep breath then forced her Converses forward really not wanting to spend any time alone in that house. Maybe she just had a psychic dream and there was no ghost; yeah, maybe that was it. She paused halfway down the library steps; what about the names her nightmare ghost guy gave her besides Charley Brewster's, names briefly mentioned in those many articles. Late night horror host Peter Vincent and Charley's girlfriend Amy Peterson was vaguely mentioned. But, wait; the papers said nothing about the assumed serial killer Jerry Dandridge dying in the house, just said he vanished without a trace. Oh, her head started to hurt with all the confusion everything was subjecting her with.

She desperately tried not to think anymore about any of it during her walk back to the Oak Street neighborhood. Upon standing before the three story monster of a house she stared up at it; it looked so damned creepy now that she knew too much. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the porch, it was nearing five which meant she had an hour to prepare for a possible return of something that may or may not have been a damned nightmare. She entered the house, felt the warmth that furnace produced. Up the stairs she sluggishly moved then entered her room tossing the heavy book bag to the floor. She removed her jacket then went to the bed grabbing the Walkman off the table. She plopped down removing Judas Priest then tucked it into the bedside table drawer and fetched her Meat Loaf cassette, the album Bat Out of Hell. She lay back slipping the headphones over her ear then hit play; her music was her escape, an escape from lunacy. She gathered the covers, never had time to make her bed, and drowned herself within the melodies of the burly and long haired and beautifully voiced Meat Loaf. After a seemingly sleepless night and a long tedious day at high school and her library investigation; she was exhausted and drifted off to dreamland with Meat Loaf singing her to sleep.

The cassette had turned itself off once the side was finished leaving Rose's sleeping ears able to catch the distant sound of the basement stored clocks chime the announcement of dusk. Being somewhat heavy with sleep she simply rolled onto her back. The room's temperature begun to drop at a rapid pace which started to slowly affect her ability to maintain sleep. Her hands lazily waved as if trying to shoo away the steadily growing cold in the air then grabbed the covers and tugged them up under her chin then rolled onto her left side curling up into a warm ball. She softly grumbled upon hearing the annoying and still creepy melody of the damned ivory music box. Her arm fumbled out from under the covers, the Walkman gripped in her hand and, without opening her eyes, she reversed the cassette then hit play. She again cuddled under the blankets hearing Meat Loaf's voice again instead of the eerie music box melody. Her eyes frowned upon hearing Meat Loaf's typically perfect voice become distorted and slow. Beneath the covers her hand grabbed the Walkman but pulled away upon feeling its unnatural iciness. Meat Loaf's voice went away and she loudly whined with annoyance, "No, not Meat Loaf!" She lazily sat up with her lips pouting. Her hand reached up and jerked the headphones from her head. "Okay, you shithead!" she snapped with a growl, "That's it, I've had enough! This ends right here and now!" She jerked back the covers ignoring the air's dramatic iciness then went to the closet gathering up the Ouija board, "You wanna be annoying, well, I ain't having it!"

She got back onto her bed removing the Ouija board and its planchett then slammed the planchett down against the center of the board. "I'm tired of you sucking all the heat outta my room." She complained, "Tired of that damned music box." She continued her complaints bringing her fingertips touching the planchett, "Just damned sick and tired of your dead ass!" Her eyes scanned the room; it had grown dark, eerily dark. "I know you're there," she said with a frustrated pucker tightening her lips, "I know about you," she stated, "Yeah, you were a psycho serial killer offing hookers and stuff. Sicko!" Her eyes aimed down at the board then she prepared to slide the planchett to 'goodbye' hoping that action would make the unwanted leave. Her eyes narrowed, the damned planchett wouldn't budge then suddenly went flying off the board as it had the night before. "Asshole!" she shouted out into the shadows of her room, "You're not wanted here! I don't want some dead murderer haunting the shit outta me, got it!"

"I was no murderer!" Jerry Dandridge's voice grumbled loudly from somewhere in the room.

"Were too because that's what the papers said!" Rose shouted back and suddenly darted back against the headboard the moment the board was knocked off the bed to the floor by an unseen force. "You shit!" she cursed while pressed back against the headboard.

"I did what was necessary to survive that's all!" he growled standing at the foot of the bed with his eyes narrowed and focused on Rose, "It's called survival not murder."

"Survival?!" she practically laughed with her eyes searching, hoped he wouldn't again manifest himself physically, "You killed folks! You decapitated hookers! What, because they were hookers it's not called murder, huh?"

"They were easily dismissed and forgotten," he snapped in defense, "Unlike if I had taken the lives of little things like you."

"Oh, oh," she rose up on her knees aiming her finger in all directions, "You're a damned nut job! They said you believed you were a damned vampire! You actually drained the blood from your victims to make it look like you were sucking them dry! That's call the Renfield syndrome and, buddy, that's just sick! But they think you upped and vanished because my neighbor Charley Brewster pointed his finger at you! They say you used hypnosis or some stupid shit like that to make everyone involved believe you were a vampire! Can you say PSYCHOPATH?!" She dropped seated on her legs crossing her arms over Ozzy's snarling werewolf face; satisfied with her determination that she was dealing with a dead crazy person whose soul needed to be burning in hell for his crimes.

Jerry was beginning to fume with her accusations that he was just your typical psychotic serial murderer getting off on pretending to be a vampire; he was the real thing. "Oh, little girl, you have no idea what in the hell you're talking about." He grumbled loudly, "I am no psychopath." He grumbled louder moving to the side of the bed glaring at her. "Was," he heard her comment which only fueled his growing rage. "You are getting on my last nerve." He basically warned her while aiming his finger down at her though she couldn't see him.

"You got on mine first, so there!" she snapped at his voice, "I bet you're still here because when you died you refused to go to the fiery pits of hell, turned your back on that black hole and ran from it like a damned cowardly shithead!"

"I am no coward!" he actually felt his spectral fangs, been a while, "I sure in the hell didn't die as one. As for hell, this is my likely hell because you're in it!"

"Ha!" she laughed, "Well, we both must be in hell then because there you are, wherever you are!" she tossed her arms around waving her hands in all directions.

"I don't like you," he grumbled and reached his hands wanting to wring her neck, "If only I could just…"

"What, gonna cut my head off and drain my blood to continue your vampire posing serial murder ways in death?" she sarcastically asked then heard him again loudly grumble which sounded a bit more demonic than the previous grumble, "Oh, good impersonation!"

"I…" he was so flustered and actually stammered on his grumbling words; his hands darted forward but unfortunately his hands passed through her neck, felt the slight warmth of her very essence tingle within his own. "Apparently I do have some limitations." He commented feeling more frustrated with the likes of her than he had with damned Charley Brewster.

"Ha! Ha!" she laughed at him, "The dead guy can't touch me!"

"Oh, oh," he again found himself stammering, "I really don't like you."

"Feeling's mutual," she commented then kicked back her covers, "I'm going to leave you now." She crawled off the bed and passed straight through him but stumbled upon feeling as if her very insides had become chilled just as her outside. She shook it off and marched for the doors.

He somewhat quivered having felt the heat of her entire bodily essence the moment she unknowingly passed through him. He hadn't felt that toasty since he had his fangs in Amy Peterson's neck; too toasty when the sunlight struck him down. His head turned and an intrigued grin crossed over his lips as watched her steal away. There was nothing like feeling the warmth of a woman even if she was probably the most annoying thing he's ever come across.

Rose made way into the kitchen, not sure if what's his face was following and decided the best way to go about her business was to ignore that he existed. She fetched a chilled soda from the fridge then grabbed up a bag of Doritos. She popped the tab taking a good swig then started rummaging through the drawers for batteries; stupid ghost killed the batteries in her Walkman. The phone suddenly rang and startled her. She marched through the house and scooped up the receiver off the rotary phone. "Hello," she sang in the phone, "Oh, hey, Dad." She stood there crunching down on a nacho cheese chip, "Yeah, hmm, hmm, that's okay. So, you'll pick up shithead? Okay, well, guess I'll see you then. Yeah, love you too." She hung up the phone and turned around not seeing the unwanted spectral directly in front of her and unknowingly passed through him again. Again she trembled feeling that god-awful inner chill. Her eyes blinked then she shook it off then crammed another chip into her mouth.

Jerry beamed with a slight intoxication; he couldn't suck the warmth with his spectral fangs but sure could feel it the instant she passed through him. It was almost as addictive as he remembered mortal blood to be. Hell, if he had known the possibility to feel a mortal's heat in that manner he would have taken advantage of those few trespassers months back. He slowly turned looking to the kitchen entryway hearing her rummaging around in the drawers and crunching down on chips. He moved to the entryway watching her gather up batteries then tucked the bag of chips under her arm and grab the can of soda. His lips continued to smirk and stood dead center of the entryway anticipating another pass. The moment she moved through him that new addiction grew; the feel of the warmth of life drifting over his spectral form. He heard her gasp; she too felt the moment she moved through him.

She paused and turned to the side taking a look back. She swallowed, her stomach slightly churned with that third sensation as if she had been deeply chilled beyond her flesh and within her muscles and bones. She no longer had the urge to munch and set the bag of chips near the telephone. Her hand rested against her stomach then she moved for the stairs feeling as if she were suddenly coming down with something; maybe she was just tired, exhausted from all the strangeness that has happened. She retreated back to her bedroom prepared to ignore any further peeps from the unwanted resident. She picked up the Ouija and its planchett then tossed both back into the closet. She took a moment to replace the batteries in the Walkman and selected another cassette; a little Jeff Tate and Queensryche seemed appropriate and would be soothing for her sudden feeling of sickness. She placed the headphones over her ears then laid down on her right side pressing the play button hearing the genius music and Jeff Tate's nearly operatic vocals. Her eyes gently closed as she allowed her mind be consumed by the story being told through song, Operation Mind Crime and anticipated her favorite song, Suite Sister Mary, that would arrive at the end of the first side.

Did he care that she was affected by passing through him? Right then, not really. It was the most pleasurable experience he'd had since, well, he was amongst the living as the un-living, the undead, the creature of the night, and every other description adjectives pertaining to the nature of his beast; a vampire. He focused on her as she was again drowning him out with the use of her music, he could hear clearly the song that played and the male voice was actually impressive while it sang through the orchestrated metal melody. Perhaps her taste in music wasn't as horrible as he first thought. He reached his hand down and very gently his hand passed the side of her face; that heat warmed his spectral hand and he watched her tremble. He drew his hand back; would it be wise to continue with his strange new addiction, that is, with her? She was the only one who could hear him and if something tragic would to come from him using her then he would again be left alone in his damned purgatorial hell. Decisions, decisions, he thought. Yet, how was he going to get others to come to him? His eyes again focused on her; perhaps he had an idea which caused his lips to lightly form that sinister pucker. He closed his eyes and drew himself inside her mind as she heavily sighed with sleep.

_(Author) How you liking it so far, hmm?_


	2. Chapter 2

FRIGHT NIGHT

1.5

Blood Atonement

Chapter Two

By

~GaGa4FrightNight~

_(Author)_

_Alright, y'all got a shitload to read, huh? LOL I've been a very busy, busy woman. Hey, y'all got Fright Night 1.75 coming followed by Fright Night 3 and after that Fright Night 4! LOL Yep, I've been keeping myself occupied while without the internet and now y'all can occupy yourselves with this stuff! Gotta love Rose, right? Ain't she just a peach? I love you music because that's the music I love! If there's any song in this whole story you should look up… Hey You by the Scorpions! A must for this!_

_Loves_

_GaGa4FrightNight_

Rose opened her eyes then frowned; from right to left her eyes shifted. She was in her room sitting up in her bed but her bed was the only thing familiar besides the fireplace and vintage cloth wallpaper which no longer was covered by her heavy metal posters. "What's going on?" she asked aloud; was she dreaming? She hoped she was because if that shithead ghost could physically distort reality then she'd be totally screwed. Her eyes kept on shifting from side to side just waiting for something to move, speak, or do something. Her eyes froze upon the fireplace suddenly burning to life with a strange engulfing burst of flames. Yep, she decided she was dreaming. "You are," she heard that unwanted but familiar voice. "Ah, shit," her shoulders slumped then she dropped back against the bed, "Great, now you're in my fucking dreams?! Oh, wait, take it back," she lifted her hand with her index erect, "A fucking nightmare you've become!" her hand dropped down, "Dude, just get a life…oh, that's right… you can't because you're dead!" She laughed at her sarcastic comment.

"Yes, yes," Jerry mocked her sarcasm, "Yes, I'm dead but," he stood near the nook where, instead of her record player, was his black stereo system, "I was dead when I was alive, per say."

"Oh, yeah, yep, sure," she shook her head staring up at the ceiling, "You were a nut job who believed he was a vampire."

"Ah, you're mistaken," he stepped forward with his arms crossed; his shirt, the one he last wore, with its snaps undone exposing his chest beneath, "I didn't believe, I was a vampire."

"Hmm, hmm," She hummed with disbelief.

"Why is it you can believe that I'm a ghost but you refuse to believe that I quite possibly was an actual vampire when, well, I was alive?" he asked standing before the fireplace, now as he last remembered; vacant of her framed photos and the two jewelry boxes, one being his. "How do you explain my sudden disappearance, hmm?" he asked.

"You were a chicken vampire wannabe who hightailed it when things got too close for comfort." She determined it was the best explanation than him being a damned vampire.

"Hmm," he hummed, "Then explain how I hightailed it when my only vehicle was left behind. Explain to me the remains of Billy Cole that were found at the bottom of the stairs; slime covered skeletal remains." He paused, "He was with me for over a century and Charley and Peter Vincent managed to destroy him just as they destroyed me. I still get so damned confused how it all happened." He shook it off, "Did your little investigation tell of the details given by witnesses at Club Radio, hmm? Did you read how they described me with vampire eyes and fangs and how I took out two well muscled bouncers, one quite larger than the other? Simply tossed the large man; very impressive for someone you think was merely a mortal man pretending to be a vampire."

"Mass hysteria," She commented refusing to believe his crazy ghostly babblings, "And you are definitely full of yourself, just had to add that in there."

"Well, you have an answer for everything," he shook his head.

"Yeah, apparently you do too." She commented with her eyes closed, "Can you leave my dream now."

"No," he simply refused.

"Gah!" she grumbled loudly, "What is the purpose of this, you're invasion of my privacy inside the privacy of my own freaking head?!"

"I want your help." He stated.

"Oh, does that mean you want to get the hell outta my house?!" she smiled with hope.

He grimaced at her assumption but gave her the answer she wanted to hear. "Yes, I'm asking you to help me by listening to my story of my life that was taken by Charley Brewster." He lied, well, somewhat. Yes, he was tired of being alone on that condemned plain of existence but he also needed to be strategic to get her help to bring him warm bodies.

"You're so full of shit." She didn't believe him.

He pushed back the urge to yell at her; can't attract bees without honey. "No, I am not." He stated firmly, "Perhaps if you open yourself up to what I've been trying to confess to you then, just maybe I'll be freed from this house, your home then you won't have to listen to me anymore."

"Sounds too good to be true." She commented while resting her hands on her abdomen.

"Look at me," he suggested, "Look at me and tell me what you see; if you can see that I'm being untruthful."

"I thought I made it clear that I have no damned desire or need to see your mug." She firmly stated, "It's bad enough that I have to listen to your damned voice." She wished he'd just get out of her damned head already and actually let her get some damned sleep. She decided that she had to now resort to ignoring him in her dreams or nightmares as she planned on when she was awake. She rolled onto her side, pulled the blankets up over head, and, that was it, time to ignore the ghost who when alive was a psychotic serial murderer who believed him to be a vampire.

He was getting more than frustrated with her. Time to see exactly what he could and could not do in that dream plain. He left the fireplace and somewhat stormed to the bed then physically snatched hold of the covers and with a swift jerk they were pulled off her falling to the floor. He watched her simply tuck her legs up and grab a pillow covering her head, again, to block him out. His lips pressed together with heightening frustrations then marched around the bed then along the side. He glared down at her, "You're going to listen to me like it or not." He stated but she refused to acknowledge him with any spoken spite. He reached down and snatched the pillow then jerked it back tossing it to the floor; she quickly rolled onto her right side being damned stubborn and difficult. "There's no blocking me out here or there, little girl." He stated; she clasped her hands over her ears, "Oh, go ahead and try to ignore me but it won't work and you know it." His lips smirked then lifted his hand snapping his fingers.

She hit the floor hard and with a loud thud followed by a loud groan. Her eyes snapped open to discover she had fallen off her bed. She quickly sat up and pulled back the headphones while scanning the shadows of the room. She reached grabbing the bed and pulled up off the floor feeling a bit achy after hitting the floor. Her eyes carefully looked around hoping he wouldn't show himself. "Boo!" his voice shouted right in her ear and she screeched and darted forward tripping over the comforter at her feet. She dropped forward hitting the floor for a second time and heard him laugh. "You shithead psycho!" she shouted then pushed up off the floor, "Quit fucking with me!" She stomped and kicked her feet out of the bundled comforter then marched around the bed and plopped down on her rear crossing her arms firmly over her chest. "No!" his voice again sounded in her ear causing her slide off the edge and drop down on her ear. She closed her eyes tightly and kept her arms tightly crossed. "Look at me." She heard him demand; her lips tightly puckered while squeezing her eyes shut. "Look at me!" she heard him demand louder but stood her ground.

He stared down at her, determined to get her to look at him; no one could refuse him once they looked at him. He was always irresistible when looked upon. It didn't matter that he was only a spectral version of his former self; she wouldn't resist him once she saw him. "Rose, open your eyes and look at me." He softened his voice, "If you look at me then I'll leave you be." He watched her shake her head obviously not believing him, "Give me this one simple gesture and I'll leave you alone. I need you to look at me, acknowledge me for just one single moment, that's all I'm asking." She continued to shake her head, "I have spent a year not being acknowledged, seen, or heard. I'm not asking much from you." He kept his voice soft, hid his true frustration, "I'm not the monster they portrayed me as, as Charley Brewster and the others made me out to be. I had no intensions in harming any of them, any of these families that lived around me." It was the truth; the worst thing a vampire could do was feed amongst those around them. "I always kept to myself; I was always a private individual that minded his own damned business. I went to town to town restoring houses like this one." His arms tossed up gesturing to the house though she refused to see, "Yes, I took lives but lives that none of these so called proper people even gave a second thought towards. Sure it became known they were dying but when it came down to it, they truly didn't care because they all were unwanted. I would've moved on with my life as I have for centuries but that changed because of him!"

His head darted to the right and the shade again tossed up revealing the lit window of Charley Brewster's. He turned looking to the window, looking through it at the adjacent window. "He spied on me." He spoke with a slight snarl about his lips, "He wouldn't leave it alone and spied on me and saw what wasn't meant to be seen. He went to the police and brought them to my home, invaded my damned privacy." He stepped nearer the window, "He went to his girlfriend and friend telling them about me, endangered their lives as well. Then he went to that old man and he too was put in danger." His eyes burned through the panes of glass focused wildly on that adjacent window, "I tried to give him a damned out but he was too damned stupid to take it which left me with no choice; a choice I never had." He remembered that night he desperately tried to put the fear of God in that boy and indeed he gave that boy the option to forget everything that was seen. He would've gladly left that town if the boy would've ceased with the determination to reveal his secret to the surrounding world. "Forget about me, Charley, and I'll forget about you." He repeated those spoken words, "He refused and, so, I did what I had to and," His face became unreadable and solemn, "And I failed." He turned away from the window looking to her as she remained seated on the floor. "Now, the irony," he stepped forward focused on her, "I'd give anything to be seen. I lived for a very long time and the last year, in death, has been the longest. Do you understand? Could you understand the torment of being invisible to those around you?"

She heard his words and his final question. Since moving there, she experienced what it was like to be invisible. There seemed not a single person in her high school willing to accept the new girl, not even Charley Brewster whom she only spoke to on that first day. Back home, where she moved from, she had so many friends, an entire group of friends. Now the only person or thing that would even speak to her was in that room with her. How damned pathetic was she? Only a ghost was willing to speak to her; more like torment her. She hated having left behind everything she knew and hated it even more feeling like the odd one out when she used to be the odd one in. She wished she could go back; go back amongst her friends, go to more concerts and continue as it should've been. She wished her mom was there then it wouldn't have been such a difficult change to adjust with; her mom was her closest friend. "Yeah," she finally spoke up, "You don't want to be here anymore than I do. We're both stuck, I guess."

He felt it; she was breaking. He heard it in her thoughts.

"I have at least another year and you have," she lightly opened her eyes looking to her knees, "Well, who knows how long you've got to be stuck here."

Yes, definitely sympathy for him; that's what he heard in her voice and words.

"Yeah, maybe you were some nut case," she wasn't too keen on his whole identity as once being a vampire, "Yeah, and you killed prostitutes." Her nose wrinkled, "Wait, you killed people and maybe you deserve what you got."

Well, there went that little hope; he desperately tried to hold back his returning frustrations. "I disagree." He commented maintaining his calm tone.

"Yeah, you would, you're dead, you're a ghost and you're stuck." She slightly nodded.

"Why are you having such a difficult time believing that I am…I was a vampire?" he asked. What a turn of events; a year ago he didn't want anyone to know he was a vampire but now he was trying to convince one damned young teenage girl that he once was a vampire.

"Because it's easier to believe you are or were crazy." She answered and passed her knees she caught glimpse of what looked to be very real shoes, "Vampires are easy to believe to exist in books and movies; plain fiction, originated from the imagination of Bram Stoker made into a famous novel called Dracula and later to become the famous black and white film starring Bella Lugosi as the most famous vampire ever known. That's why."

"You believe I'm a ghost, correct?" he asked standing directly in front of her.

"Well, yeah," she nodded as her eyes slightly shifted up looking to very real legs covered by charcoal gray slacks brushed by gray leather.

"Then why can't vampires exist, hmm?" he asked; noticed her eyes half open and somewhat staring forward actually seeing part of him.

"Maybe you were what you say you were." She didn't want to believe in such things existing. Sure she had hoped spirits could exist; wanted so desperately to speak to her mom one more time. "Wouldn't that still make you as evil as a serial killer?" she asked him with her eyes just slightly shifting upward seeing more of those slacks.

"I don't see it that way." He stated; there was definitely a change in her demeanor perhaps more so from her thought of her deceased mother, "I've never prided myself as being evil. I only lived to survive just like anyone else though unfortunately I would always be seen as a monster because I had to take lives. I never chose to take lives; I had to take those lives to survive."

"Maybe," she wasn't able to really comment. Yeah, vampires always had the wrap of being monsters; creatures that thrived to kill and destroy. Maybe that wasn't the gist of what they are or what he was; maybe there was more involved. She couldn't honestly dismiss their existence if right then she was in the presence of a ghost, something many believe unreal, nonexistent. Unless she had lost her mind and was imagining the whole thing but that could never explain what she read in those newspaper archives. She never heard the name Jerry Dandridge until his voice said it. Now she didn't just have a ghost but the ghost of a vampire trapped in her house. "Okay, so you're a dead vampire, what now?" she asked staring blankly forward.

Her thoughts clearly indicated she was beginning to believe; his advantage. "Give me the opportunity to truly be heard," he urged, not entirely untrue; since finding himself trapped there he had the desire to be heard, "And the opportunity to be seen. Help me, Rose. I promise that I have no intention to harm you in any way." No, he didn't wish to harm her; he needed her to help him again to feed that need for consuming lives in a whole other way, "Give me the pleasure of being heard and seen. If I'm to be stuck here for however long it might be, give me those two simple gestures of my voice being heard and your eyes seeing me."

"You sound so convincing," she commented with a slight smile, "That's what you bloodsuckers do, convince, charm, and seduce. You might just be bullshitting me."

Well, she wasn't entirely an idiot; he silently commented to himself. "I'm no longer a vampire, I'm a trapped spirit." He wasn't entirely certain if his wiles of life were with him in there in death but desperately wanted to find out, "Has anything I've said or done shown you my ability to convince, charm, or seduce?"

"No, you only seem to have the ability to annoy the shit out of me." She answered with a little laugh, "Yeah, that's pretty much what I've gotten from ya."

"Well, then it's settled," he hoped, "Are you going to give me what I want with your own free will."

"So, you just want me to listen to you blab and want me to look at what I predict is a pretty damned smug mug?" she asked, trying to make a final decision.

"You could put it that way," he slightly shook his head at her horrible use of adjectives, "And yes, I want you to hear me and to see me. Perhaps if you truly will listen to me and finally look at me you might come to the conclusion that I'm not truly the monster written about."

She shook her head, "Well, maybe you won't bother me as much. I do have a little brother and have learned that if I cave in then he's not as annoying." She shrugged, decided to give the ghost of Jerry Dandridge the proclaimed vampire what he requested, "Okay, Jerry Dandridge, let's get this shit over and done with then maybe you'll finally let me sleep and keep my sanity intact."

Oh, victory at last; he beamed with satisfaction having finally won the battle with her, unlike the lost battle with Charley Brewster. "Thank you, Rose," he truly thanked her, appreciated her willingness to allow him the opportunity to discover if he still maintained his more cunning abilities. Actually, his ability to convince was still intact; obvious by her caving to his requests.

"Yeah, your, I guess, welcome." She again shrugged and dropped her arms resting her hands against her knees. "Well, this is awkward as hell." She commented, "I guess I'm gonna look at you now." She took a moment to prepare herself, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She was really going to look at a ghost that quite possibly once was one of the undead. Her head tilted back as she again took another deep breath. "Okay," she released her breath, "Here goes nothing and you better not scare the shit out of me when I look at you because I'll be pissed." She mumbled under her breath, "Be all gross and shit."

"Oh, take my word for it," he smirked, "You won't be scared, that I am positive."

"You seriously are so full of yourself." She shook her head, "Now shut up and let me do this." She slightly lifted her hands and took another deep breath then slowly opened her eyes while slowly exhaling. Her eyes were aimed up but what she saw was blurred. "Ha," she laughed, "Luckily for me I don't have my glasses on."

He frowned, "What?"

She again laughed, "Yeah I'm near sighted. Can't see anything more than a foot in front of me without my glasses." She continued to laugh then stood up off the floor. "Well, too bad." she tossed her hands up and shrugged, "Maybe another time, huh." She looked forward and quickly startled dropping onto the foot of the bed; he was right there less than a foot in front of her. "Jesus!" she grumbled, really fed up with him scaring the crap out of her.

"No, not even close." He commented with his arms crossed.

"No shit," she took a breath resting her hand on her chest, "You're sure determined that I see your damned face, aren't ya?" She closed her eyes; thought she got out of that one but, nope, something was damned stubborn. "Let me get my glasses." She lifted her hand and quickly turned then crawled onto the bed. She reached her bedside table and grabbed her glasses then reluctantly put them over her eyes. Why did she agree to any of it? Why was any of it even happening to her? She took another deep breath then slowly turned sitting her rear onto the bed. "Let's try this again, shall we." She stated then opened her eyes and in her mind started to play one of her all time favorite Scorpions tunes, Hey You. Yeah, she pretty much, now, understood why he was so damned smug, arrogant, conceded, and definitely full of himself.

All her life, well, teenage life she had adored all those head banging heavy metal gods; their manes of flowing rock star hair, their eyeliner enhanced eyes, their tight leather pants, and skin exposing torn shirts. She always tried to convince herself she was attracted to their vocals not their looks and right then, perhaps it was true. The ghost, the phantom, the spectral being in her room shared none of the traits of those plastered on her walls. He looked more realistic; there was no glamour or raunchiness. Hell, she assumed that even vampires would uphold the almost rock god appearance but her assumption was wrong. He didn't even share any likeness to the classics that were Bella Lugosi or Christopher Lee. Did she find him attractive? Well, Hey You was on repeat within her thoughts and that pretty much said it all. Sure, he was obviously mature in aged appearance, like her dad's age but was far from looking like any father figure she ever encountered including her dad. Yet, maybe she was seeing him all wrong; there were shadows throughout the room since it was dark but did she dare turn on the overhead light? Could she handle what he truly looked like with the light on? Was it best just to leave him defined by shadows instead of light? She determined she didn't need to be attracted to an undead dead guy no matter how attractive he was. "Okay," she finally spoke trying to remove the song from her head and any attraction whatsoever, "Well, goodnight." She jerked the glasses off her face, set them on the table and quickly snatched up her blankets off the floor.

He shook his head with surprise, "What?" Obviously not the reaction he expected. She looked at him but did she truly look at him? Oh, he knew what she thought but her actions just totally contradicted those promising thoughts.

"Yeah," she messily covered herself and laid down, "Goodnight. I looked at ya so, yeah, now I'm gonna go night-night."

"Wait a minute," he refused to believe that was it; she didn't say one damned thing remotely commenting him on his appearance only in her damned thoughts. Damn it, he wanted it to be vocalized.

"Shh," she closed her eyes tightly huddling the covers about her neck, "I don't feel good so, yeah, be quiet and let me sleep like you said you would let me do after I looked at ya."

"Fine, you can sleep." He stated, "And you can dream as well."

"Ah, shit," she whined bringing the covers over her head. She couldn't get the song out of her head; it was repeating with those shadowy details she got of his appearance.

"That's right," he smirked, "Sweet dreams, Rose."

"Shithead," she again whined with a little grumble.

_That's it, Rose, fall asleep_; he urged within his mind; _fall asleep and dream_. He determined the best way to get her to actually see him, have no choice but to see him was in her dreams. It was the most excitement he had with such a determined pursuit not since, well, the evening he pursued Charley and Amy through the streets then into Club Radio. Yes, Club Radio; a fond memory including the chaos he caused. He knew with access to Rose's dreams there was nothing he couldn't do; any world could be created by him. His lips formed into the smirk of sly genius. She could sleep soundly and at the same time be helpless against his charms. He closed his eyes waiting for the moment she hit that plain of deep sleep in which he would enjoy invading.

On a pair of killer leather calf boots Rose bounced around frantically while banging her head to the pounding metal melody that started to plague her conscious before falling asleep. The unique vocals of German singer Claus Meine blended with the vocals of Rudolph Schenker and incredible guitar skills of Mateus. She didn't care if she was dreaming as long as she was having a blast dancing around as crazily as she wanted because that's what you did in your dreams. She ignored those around her who were undoubtedly no true heavy metal fans and unable to keep up to that heavenly heavy rock beat. Brought her back to the time when she and her friends would create their own mosh pits on the east coast shoreline blasting their boom box against the cliffs. Those around her looked like the freaks with their glitzy clothes of silk and sequins and their sleek hairdos; disco freaks was what she called them. Her arms flailed in wide circles, every toss high in the air showing off her midriff because of the purposely cut band tee. Her legs stomped and kicked to the beat of the music covered to the knees by a stretch cotton fitted pencil skirt and about her hips rattled layers of a chain belt. Her head banged to the music tossing her strawberry blonde metal inspired hairstyle streaked with a little punk inspired electric blue. No glasses needed when you were in your dreams, you can see everything clearly.

She continued bouncing around within her own private piece of the dance floor. Colored lights flashed to the beat of the music while her eyes were closed in concentration of her enjoyment of dancing and music with a big smile over her lips. "Judas Priest!" she shouted and swiftly the music changed upon her prompt, "Yes!" She tossed her arms in the air fist pumping in honor of the pulsing beat of Judas Priest's mechanical Turbo Lover and seduced by Rob Halford's grinding vocals. She lipped the words and somewhat acted out the chorus. "RAGING HORSE POWER DRIVING INTO FURY!" she sang aloud, "CHANING GEARS I PULL YOU TIGHTER TO ME" she sang louder, "I'M YOUR TURBO LOVER… TELL ME THERE'S NO OTHER!" she sang even louder with the song, "I'M YOUR TURBO LOVER… BETTER RUN FOR COVER!" She felt as if she were at her own private party where any song she wanted would come to life the moment she thought it. Her eyes looked around and it seemed that the crowd was beginning to thin; individuals were vanishing one by one. Her eyes frowned; yeah, she didn't mind their disappearance but knew she hadn't prompted it. Her frantic dancing gradually calmed as the music started to fade into something not her taste. Then it dawned on her. "Ah, come on," she whined and shrugged, "Do you have to ruin everything for me, even my damned dreams?" She childishly stomped her foot with her lips twisted in a whiny grimace.

She spun around waiting for the invader to finally show. "Yeah, I know you're around here somewhere, shithead!" She shouted over the lousy music, "You could at least keep my music going if you're gonna be in my head!" She again stomped her foot, "This music sucks; lacks passion, drive, and a damned pulse just like a certain somebody! Oh, wait!" she brightened, "You never had a pulse even when you were 'alive' and weren't a pain in my ass!"

"Really?!" his voice spoke over the music.

She jumped forward hearing him speak in her ear. Her hands balled into frustrated fists and face puckered with frustrations. "KROKUS!" she defiantly shouted then crossed her arms over her chest and quickly Krokus filled the air taking out the previous song. She quickly spun around. "Ha!" she shouted then proceeded to lip the words to Midnight Maniac desperately ignoring the attractiveness of the only other individual in her dream.

He wasn't impressed; why wouldn't she acknowledge how damned good looking he was?! Tired of reading it in her damned thoughts! Oh, and her music was about to give him a damned ghostly migraine.

"Awe," she pouted her lips, "Okay, I'll work something in just for you!" she cleared her mind and, bam, Alone Again by Dokken sounded loudly; sorta kicking him while he was down and dead and a ghost. She continued to mockingly pout her lips at him while swaying side to side to the rock ballad. "Awesome right?!" she shouted over the beautiful electric guitar solo, "I think it's appropriate, right?!" She lipped the words while rocking out in a slower pace. She lifted her hand exposing a lighter then with the flick of her thumb a flame burned. She continued her mock by singing the chorus while swaying her hand back and forth in the air making the soft flame dance. Her smile was unfailing; knew she was getting on his last dead guy nerves. "I TRIED SO HARD TO MAKE YOU SEE!" she loudly sang, "BUT I COULDN'T FIND THE WORDS!" She started giggling. The song came to its sobering ending and she belted out a huge laugh at his expense.

His eyes glared at her as he crossed his arms tightly over his chest. Definitely, he wasn't impressed. Perhaps his idea of a club setting wasn't as brilliant as he first thought. Hmm, he thought, maybe something more intimate. His hand lifted and fingers snapped and intimate it became taking away the wide open space of that remembered club replacing it with the bedroom he remembered, not her tasteless array of rock star posters; a brighter setting illuminating him nicely so she couldn't deny herself a proper look of his stunning appearance. He smugly smirked with satisfaction; enjoyed the annoyed expression that promptly engulfed her pretty face. Oh, and no damned bed or covers to hide from him. He now had control; just the way he liked it. "Much better," he commented.

She crossed her arms over her chest then spun around turning her back to him. "You're about as bad as Freddy Kruger." She stated, "At least he would've killed me already and put me out of my misery."

"Who's Freddy Kruger?" he asked, the name didn't sound familiar.

"Oh, just another dead guy who torments teenagers when they're asleep." She explained, "Sound familiar?"

His eyes narrowed and glared at the back of her head. He calmed down a bit, "I just thought,"

"Dangerous," she commented with a smirk.

He pressed his lips together fighting against the desire to be just as spiteful. "I just thought while you slept it would be a more appropriate way to socialize." He explained, "You get your sleep and I get that much needed socialization though you're beginning to make me regret having considered you for something you remotely lack skills in performing." Yeah, he had to be somewhat spiteful.

Her eyes narrowed in response to his stated insult. "You're so needy." She gave her own insult, "We're you that needy when you walked the earth as a cold blooded killer?"

"I am not needy." He denied her accusation, "And I never was and never will be. And I wasn't some mindless killer as you assume. There's more to being a vampire than just killing. If you would open your closed mind then perhaps you'll get a better understanding of my true nature." His lips softened, the tension faded, "I believe you're more intelligent than the way you obviously come across. Do you seriously wish to give me or anyone the impression that you're just some closed minded run of the mill teenager, hmm?"

She let up a little; never has she considered herself your typical teenager. She wasn't stupid; at her previous school she was even in more advanced classes than even her head banging buddies. Sure she loved heavy metal music but much of the bands she truly loved were brilliant in their unique play on the development of their metal melodies. "Oh, well, if I'm stuck with you for the time being, I guess I could make the best of it." She stated with her arms loosening over her chest, "Not every day someone gets the opportunity to speak to a ghost, a dead vampire, and something that's been around the block about a million damned times over and over."

Again with her vibrant adjectives; he slightly rolled his eyes. "So, are you agreeing to be more civilized and bit less vindictive?" he asked; hoped they were finally getting passed her damned rudeness and stubbornness.

"Yeah," she slightly shook her head, "I'll be more civilized and whatever." She reluctantly turned around but didn't look at him directly; really didn't want to find him attractive. Couldn't go having a crush on a dead guy who when he was alive or undead went around sucking the lives out of folks. "Now what?" she asked having no idea what to do now that she was stuck in dreamland with him.

"For starters," he quickly noticed her reluctance to truly look at him, "You could look at me as if I'm standing right in front of you, which I am."

"What is your obsession with having me look at you?" she asked, still not looking directly at him, "I see you."

"No you don't." he stated with his tone softened, "You don't really see me. Actually you act as if you don't truly wish to really see me. You're avoiding looking at me right now."

Yeah, she was; she nodded.

"Then really look at me." He urged her, "Or are you afraid that if you do, you would have to admit to yourself that I truly exist?"

"No, that's not it." She shook her head.

"Then what?" he asked studying her pretty face; her eyes kept shifting side to side without stopping to look him in the face.

"What do you want me to say?" she asked instead of answering his question, "I don't know what you expect if I really look at you. I don't see the point."

"The point is that you'll acknowledge me." He answered and that was the gist of his point and then some. He watched closely as she ceased the shifting of her eyes and focused more so on his chest; not quite where he wanted them. "What are you afraid of?" he asked hoping to prod her pride which would work to his advantage.

"Nothing," she denied though there was something she was afraid of; him.

"I don't believe you." He commented, could read the struggle about her expression and her thoughts; fear wasn't what he wanted to provoke from her.

"That's your problem." She defensively snipped.

"Yes but it's yours too." He stated.

She really hated having her pride offended. "Fine," she rolled her eyes and lifted her eyes. Oh, she hated that he was so damned attractive as his damned ego blatantly proclaimed. It seemed wrong to find him attractive, not just because he was the physical appearance of a man about forty, but because of what he was and had been. "Happy?" she somewhat grumbled, "I'm looking at you." She watched his full lips softly smile; hated his damned gorgeous smile too.

"Thank you," he sincerely said; finally someone was looking at him, not through him. And she did find him attractive but hadn't said it yet.

"Sure," she drolly said, "Now what?"

"So, now that you are truly looking at me," he focused his eyes on hers that were quite lovely and a light shade of blue, "Do I scare the shit out of you?"

She gave a quick laugh then shook her head commenting, "Of course not."

"How do I appear to you?" he asked wanting a bit of his ego to be stroked, been a long year without having anyone swooning over him.

"Ah, I don't know." She was reluctant to feed his ego; not stupid.

"Do you find me attractive?" he asked with a slight curious lean forward.

"Gah, I don't know." She held her reluctance.

His lips slightly puckered with suspicion, "Oh, you do know but you just refuse to say."

"What do you want me to say?" she asked, "Tell me what to say then I'll say it, maybe."

"I want you to say the truth." He urged as his brows curiously lifted.

"Fine," she snapped with frustration, "Jeeze, fine, you're, well, not bad looking." She watched him frown; guessed it wasn't what he expected to hear, "You look, well, like twenty or so years older than me." She watched his frown tense across his brows, "Oh my god, alright!" she again snapped, "You're good looking, just like you bragged. Do I really need to inform you of something you obviously know? A little pointless." She watched the lines soften about his brows.

"So, you find me attractive." He accused; yes, his ego was again being lavished by a very pretty young lady.

"Holy shit, didn't you just hear me?" she shook her head in disbelief, "Yes, okay! You're probably better than good looking but you know that! Now, would you leave me the hell alone with all this looking at you bullshit, huh? Cut me a break!" She uncrossed her arms and tossed her hands in the air, "I don't know what else I can say to make you happy, Jerry!"

"Oh, you've made me happy," he stated, "Very happy."

"Woo!" she sarcastically cheered.

"Would you like to know what would make me even happier?" he slyly asked.

"No, but you're gonna tell me if I like it or not." She guessed and really didn't want to know.

"Of course," he smirked focusing his eyes in hers, "Do you find me attractive enough to," he paused feeling that familiar seductive nature returning, "Well, to perhaps give me a kiss?" He found her shocked expression very amusing; unlike Peter Vincent's horrible old fashioned vampire films.

"Oh, you've got some balls for a dead guy." She commented and leaned back a bit crossing her arms over her chest again.

"Have you ever been kissed?" he asked feeling for the first time in a year that rush he once took for granted when effortlessly pursuing what he wanted.

"Ah, plenty," she snipped back at him, "Not by a dead guy but been kissed plenty and then some by guys with a pulse." Oh, she didn't mean to say that much but he was so damned annoying and attractive at the same time. "Oh, besides, you're a ghost, you can't kiss your own ass let alone something living." She really wanted out of that dream.

"Ah but," he lifted his hand with an erect index, "We are in your dream. In here, I can do whatever I want," he pointed at her, "As can you." It was confirmed, she was definitely attracted to him; now for more than just attraction.

She wasn't carrying on with his very awkward subject; time to change the subject since earlier he was so keen on blabbing. "So," she stepped to the side trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling his expression gave her, "What's up with the paintings?" she stepped closer to the wall; recognized most of them from those that were tossed out of the basement into the pile of his belongings, "Were ya some sorta art collector and what's up with the one that looks like Charley Brewster's girlfriend, huh?"

He again pressed his lips together with annoyance; apparently his damned so called charms didn't work like they had in life. With a slight huff he turned and looked above the fireplace at the memory of that painting. "She was someone I knew," he started to speak.

"Let me guess," She interrupted, "Someone you knew long time ago or something like that. With you, I'm guessing a really long time ago." She smirked, "But sorta weird how Brewster's girlfriend just happens to look just like the chick you knew long, long, long, and probably a really long time ago." She glanced at him; he was focused on the portrait. Her eyes lightly frowned questioning his expression; there was something kinda sad about how he looked up at the painting. "Just to get to Brewster wasn't your only motive. You wanted to get your hands on her, right?" she asked making an assumption just by the expression on his face.

Damn she was intuitive, he grumbled in thought. "Yes," he confessed, "But, as you can see, it didn't quite work out in my favor." Yes, he had two motives concerning Amy Peterson. The first motive was to hit Charley where it hurt the most by stealing the young lady love. The second motive was his own selfish reasons of possibly having more of a physical remembrance of the young woman in the portrait instead of just the portrait.

"What did you do to her?" she curiously asked; he wanted to share his story, well, she now gave him the chance, "Not her," she pointed at the portrait, "That's too much information for me to handle; but what did you do to Amy Peterson? You used your so called vampire mesmerizing skills, didn't ya? You know the skill you no longer possess." She watched his eyes leave the portrait and slowly narrow looking at her and she simply smiled, "Was it the whole, I have complete power over you and you cannot resist me thing? Bet she didn't have a free brain cell when it came to you. You got all swoony and stuff, I'm guessing; had her putty in your greedy vampire hands." She rolled her eyes with a slight shake of her head.

"You're really annoying," he commented.

"What of it?" she sarcastically asked, "So, spill it. Did you seduce her; throw all your vampire skills in one big ego filled barrel? But, really, what's the achievement in that, hmm? If you had to go all hypnosis on her then she never really like really was into ya and I think you knew it. She had her little bitty heart set on adorable little Charley Brewster, the average Joe."

"How can adorable compare to, well, me?" he defensively asked, "He's just a little boy and like you said, he's average at the most." He turned his back to the portrait.

"Hey, I call it as I see it." She stated, "I saw them together at school. All lip locked and making out during lunch. Who knows what they do together in his car or his bedroom. I'm sure by now they've gone all the way." Her curiosity peaked, "Wait, you didn't nail her did ya? I mean not in the whole vampire sucking way; you know."

He again looked at her; she so easily plucked his every damned nerve with everything that came out of her mouth and brain. "What does it matter what I did, hmm?" he asked facing her with his arms remaining tightly crossed, "What does it matter to you what I did or did not do to Charley Brewster's sweetheart, hmm?" He took a step forward, "Why are you all of a sudden curious about what may or may not been done to that sweet and innocent little Amy, huh?"

She again felt awkward; perhaps asked the wrong questions. "Just making conversation like you wanted." She quickly spat back.

"Let me continue the conversation." He agreed again stepping closer, "I cornered Charley and Amy at Club Radio. Charley was too damned busy trying to convince Peter Vincent to help them and left poor Amy defenseless and she was, defenseless against me. It took nothing to break her out of her shy and meek shell; I just gave that shell a little tap and it cracked and she emerged the rest of the way without real hesitation." He prided himself on his ability to bring the sex out of any woman young or old; hell, Charley's mom was raring to give it up. "She just followed her own desire which was for me. You should have seen how well she performed on the dance floor that night; the way her body moved against mine." He lavished in the awkwardness beginning to show Rose's regret for the questions and comments she blatantly made, "There is always a little hesitation in the beginning. She put up a bit of a struggle but by the time I finished with her, she was mine to do as I pleased. And that was exactly what I did, as I pleased and she was more than willing."

"You're a pervert," she commented, "You basically just made yourself sound like a pervert, you do realize that?"

"Honestly I just believe you have a hard time understanding the nature of sex." He stated ignoring her typical way to avoid the awkwardness he obviously inflicted her with, "Oh, you say you've kissed and then some but you're likely just as inexperienced as Amy was, that is until I had my way. Don't be ashamed for being embarrassed; I've been around the block a million times and over and over, remember?"

"I ain't ashamed of shit." She tried to snap back but he made her conscious of her own inexperience. Yeah, she had made out plenty times and the whole then some pretty much ended at third base.

"Oh, perhaps you're just envious," he again ignored her defensiveness, "Just as envious as Charley was of me. He lacks so much that likely he's left Amy wanting more because of me, of course. She never knew what it was like to lust or desire unlike she had upon the very first time she saw me." He stepped up to her, reached and pried back her hand. She somewhat startled then he pulled her hand forward and leaned while lifting the back of her hand to his lips. He studied her eyes as they were wide with confusion to how to react to what he was attempting to do. "Just looking into her eyes, I saw the nagging desire to know what it was like to be seduced in every meaning of the word." He explained then pressed his lips against the back of her hand keeping his eyes with hers, "That's my skill; I read and discover the real desires in women."

She quickly jerked her hand from his; couldn't find the proper insult but could only comment, "You're no Don Juan, more like the Marquis De Sade perhaps." She tucked her kissed hand behind her and rubbing the back against her butt as if trying to wipe away his vampire cooties, "You're a sadist."

"The Marquis De Sade also read and discovered the desires of others let alone his own." He stated with intelligence, "He was just as persecuted as I am right now. What harm is there in knowing just how to unleash desires, hmm? See, I'm not just about death. Death isn't the only thing that defines me. I am capable of passion, romantic seduction, and giving another their real desires. Sure, it might take a little provocation but eventually all desires come out at the individuals will." He again crossed his arms, "I simply help it along."

"Don't make it sound like you did her any favors because you had motives." She reminded him, "And you're just pissed because your shit ain't working on me since its likely outta commission because you were put out of commission." She smirked and choked a little laugh with the strangest thought, "You're like a guy who's," she couldn't say it; such an embarrassing thought for any guy even a dead one.

"Go ahead, continue with your insulting observations." His brows furrowed, "You get too much pleasure out of mocking me and my circumstances."

"See, you were right," she decided to offer him a compliment; "You do know my desires. Bravo."

His lips formed a sly smirk. "Oh, I will admit that I don't, not yet." He confidently stated, "And I caught a glimpse of those desires moments ago; very similar to those I saw clearly in Amy Peterson when she looked at me."

"Oh, back to that?" she desperately tried to shake him off his suggestive path.

"Tell me, Rose," his voice became that familiar smoothness, "How many boys have left you wanting more as Charley undoubtedly still to this day does to poor Amy? Did a single one manage to remotely give you satisfaction? Sometimes it takes someone with more experience to truly give satisfaction. I am confident that Amy will live the rest of her mortal life wanting more and more because she had a very unique taste that she'll never again be given. And I'm just as confident that you'll end up the same way."

She grimaced; wouldn't admit it out right that most of those first and second and third bases seemed to miss the mark but that was the life of being a teenager, especially of the female sex. "For one," she took a step forward glaring at him, "You're definitely ill equipped to offer anything remotely satisfying to any woman let alone me; you're dead, bucko."

"True," he agreed with a smugness; her thoughts said it all, "But I guarantee I still surpass any boy you've known even being dead; including Charley."

"Yeah but they all have something you don't." she took another determined step forward, "Well, they have a lot that you don't; a functional body, a pulse which you proclaim you didn't have before you died, and they aren't a damned ghost."

"Yes, but who's currently been entertaining your fancy?" his brows curiously lifted, "I don't see a single living and breathing young man knocking on your door. Who's the current man of your dreams?"

"Nightmare more like it, fat head!" she snapped back at him.

"Nightmare, dream, no difference I'm still here." He held his smug smirk; knew with confidence he was really getting to her, "And no one else is."

"Yeah, unfortunately for me!" she grumbled; damn he was really beginning to bug her. She hated those damned truths he so blatantly spat at her; worse than those she spat at him. "You sure think highly of yourself don't you? You actually think I'm attracted to you?"

"I call it as I see it." He used her words against her, "And I definitely see it in those big blue eyes of yours. Yes, I'm unfortunately dead but in your dream I am as alive as you want me to be."

She frustratingly shook her head. "Would you just give up, ain't gonna happen!" she was truly getting flustered, "I'm not Amy Peterson or any other chick you used your vampire hypnosis on to get your way! So, just stop already while you're not ahead!"

"Oh, I'm ahead alright," his eyes matched the smugness of his smirk, "You are so on the verge I can feel it."

"On the verge of what?" she grumbled with further frustrations, "On the verge of calling a damned priest and have this house blessed and your ass evicted into hell?!"

He dared and took a very close step forward. "Let me kiss you," he urged, "Then we'll discover how close to you truly are."

"You can't kiss me," she practically guessed, "Nonfunctional remember."

"Let's see how nonfunctional I am." He continued to provoke, "Test me, test yourself I encourage you."

"You suck at seduction!" she threw back in desperation to veer his direction, "And I predict all you've ever known how to do is suck!"

"You're getting angry," he commented with his smirk broadening, "Very becoming, might I say."

"Damn straight I'm getting angry!" she practically shouted, "You stand here claiming all mightily that you were this expert seducer, the provoker of desires and all you're provoking out of me is the desire to slap the damned smug smile off your face!"

"That's it, Rose, get angry." He cunningly provoked, "You do have a fire inside you just waiting to burn free."

"Oh and I highly doubt you're the dead guy to bring it outta me!" she loudly snapped with defiance.

"Hmm, I think I am." He so confidently proclaimed, "And know I'm doing it right now."

"Are not!" she denied.

"You want me to seduce you?" he asked with his smirk forming a gratified sneer, "Do you want me to seduce you like I seduced Amy? Do you want me to seduce you like all those boys were ill equipped to do, hmm? I gladly offer you the services of my expertise."

"Oh!" she stammered, uncrossed her arms and tossed her hands in the air, "You're fucking useless!"

"Oh, I have to disagree." He knew he was slithering his way into her head; her cheeks were flushed and burning, "I am very useful; use me, Rose, and I guarantee not to disappoint." He couldn't even remember the last time he had worked that hard.

Her eyes narrowed and lips pressed firmly together then she turned her back to him. Oh, she wouldn't out right admit to his smug ass that there was an almost sickening temptation that he knew he was waving in her face. Her arms again tightly crossed and hands firmly gripped her upper arms. She hadn't ever been that damned flustered or agitated in all her nearly eighteen years when it came to anything of the opposite sex. Yep, she found him attractive; more attractive than the so called boys she ever got with. He was mature, probably way too damned mature by centuries, but a mature attractive. There was also that element of danger, an allure she found in those bad boys of heavy metal but knew he was more than just bad, probably evil as hell.

Opportunity knocked and he was going to answer. He felt such a rush with such a tedious pursuit; unlike the physical pursuits of his lengthy past. It was a mental pursuit that pumped a type of adrenaline throughout his spirit. It was almost like the days of old; the hunt for the perfect prey to satisfy his predator instincts. A boast of anticipation was felt that only true hard labor could produce. For centuries there was no real effort to get what he wanted but as hard as he worked with her, it felt refreshing and exhilarating. Using only his voice and words seemed so much more rewarding than simply burning his eyes into another's and mesmerizing them to do his bidding. Yes, she was difficult but the difficulty made him want that succession even more. He took his opportunity and stepped directly behind her; now to discover if he could truly touch her while within her dream. His hand anxiously lifted and moved toward the flow of her strawberry blonde hair.

She froze upon feeling the distinct feel of his fingers lift a segment of her hair then let it gently trail across his fingers and flow back down against her back. He could touch her; she knew right then she was in serious trouble. Maybe if she ignored it he'd stop. No such luck because he dared further touching his hand just at the back of her head then combed his fingers down the length of her hair; she felt the graze of his fingertips down her back. Wait; her eyes widened then her head dropped down and, what the hell, where did her heavy metal inspired ensemble go?! Damn him, she huffed through her nose, she now wore some damned dress; definitely his likely taste not hers. She shook her head then stepped forward feeling his fingers forced back from her hair. "Nice choice," she sarcastically stated, "White, really? Could you be any more predictable?"

"Oh, would red be a better choice?" he asked and stepped forward.

She looked down, now she was in damned red. "Oh, vampire red," she again sarcastically commented, "How not so original."

"Fine," he brought his hands against her shoulders; oh he most definitely could touch and feel.

Her shoulders slightly slumped upon feeling his hands against them. She again looked down, black. "That's more my color but what gives with the whole Dracula's bride thing?" she definitely tried to make things complicated for him. She momentarily closed her eyes then opened them looking down at her own choice and nodded with approval. A bit more her style; no ankle draped hem, more playful just above the knees with that more dramatic shredded look. "You'd think, since you apparently used to know how to dress that you would know how to dress a woman." She mockingly commented. She stepped forward again removing his hands from her shoulders then turned to the side looking at him with an unimpressed expression and stated, "I bet you basically pulled out the same old touchy shit with Brewster's girlfriend." She sorta enjoyed the slyness about his expressive lips and eyes, "Probably put her in that whole vampire bridal gown thingy; she probably fit the whole white virginal look. She still fits that bill though Charley's tongues down her throat majority of the time."

"I don't give a damn what Charley does with his tongue unless it's being cut out of his mouth." He sneered, "And, yes, she wore that dress." He took a step forward, hot for the pursuit, "Now, what you're currently wearing I will agree fits you divinely."

Yep, he was gonna start slinging flattery; she didn't entirely mind. The only flattery she remembered ever receiving was 'you're pretty'. "You admitting my taste is better than yours?" she smartly inquired, "I'll always be a heavy metal rocker chick."

"I don't know," he slyly spoke scanning his eyes over her petite frame, "How do you taste?"

"That you ain't gonna find out," she agreed with a nod, "You keep anything remotely vampire away from me."

"Well, everything about me is vampire." He truthfully stated, "So where does that leave me?"

"Um, shit outta luck." She gave a smug tilt of her head.

He took a few steps back moving before the fireplace; the flames ignited and danced. He lifted his hand and offered her a place on the fur rug set before the fireplace, "Have a seat."

"Oh, that's convenient," she frowned suspiciously at him, "Get me on the floor."

"Humor me," he said keeping his hand gesturing to the rug, "Sit."

She huffed then stepped over onto the rug, "Yeah, humor me for once." She mumbled then crouched and sat down with her legs tucked under her. She looked up at him, "Now what?" she asked with a cockiness, "What are you gonna do, stand there?"

"No," he again smirked with a sly glint in his dark eyes, "Join you." He lifted his hands then with his fingers undid the silver snaps of his shirt one by one.

"Oh, yay," she rolled her eyes.

He truly wished she would just stop talking; would make his task a lot easier. The shirt was un-tucked from the belted waist of his slacks then pulled back over his shoulders and down his arms. She tried to hide the obvious attraction in her eyes but it brightened their shade of blue. He was having a serious bout of déjà vu as the shirt dropped to the floor. He lowered down onto the rug seating himself before her as she somewhat sat turned to the side. He focused his eyes with hers; so desperately she wanted to hide any remote signs being allured by him. "This isn't so bad now is it?" he asked, his vocals calm and typically smooth.

"Awkward as hell more like it." She stated, "I'm in my dream and sitting beside a shirtless dead guy, that's awkward as hell."

"Would it be rude," he was seriously tiring of her big mouth, "If I were to make the request for you to cease all your smart assed comments; I encourage you to keep them to yourself from this moment on."

"What's the fun in that?" she broadly smirked finding his annoyance by her amusing and trivial for his so called seduction skills. She watched his face fade into seriousness. "Oh, you want me to lighten up on ya?" she asked and watched him give a simple short nod, "Okay, I'll button it but I don't know how long for; just a heads up."

"Oh, thank you," he sarcastically said, "The warning is greatly appreciated."

She gave him a wink and watched him take a moment to close his eyes; definitely fighting the urge to backlash. "So, am I allowed to ask you questions?" she asked a question.

"Yes," he finally opened his eyes, relinquished that final bit of annoyance she caused.

"Seriously, what did you really do to Amy Peterson?" she asked; was honestly curious. What was a vampire's routine when it came to getting what they wanted? What did he do to get what he wanted?

"I sat down before her just as I am in front of you but, unlike you, she was facing me." He explained, read her honest curiosity, "Of course there is always mood music involved." He saw her urge to make a smart remark but she surprisingly held back, "I looked in her eyes and saw what she desired and did exactly that; I kissed her. I kissed her as any woman desired to be kissed. No matter how old a woman is, seventeen or forty, they always desire to be kissed with sensual passion. She was hesitant at first, so inexperienced and, yes, I used bit more of my, if you want to call it, vampire wiles to lessen that hesitating inexperience. But she eventually, willingly," his eyes briefly shifted glancing down at the side profile of her chest then again looked her in the eyes, "Well, willingly shared then kissed me on her own accord. She wanted so badly to experience real passion and I delivered." He watched her press her lips together, so damned eager to give her colorful opinion but thankfully fought against that eagerness.

"Hey, you bit her didn't you?" she had to ask.

"How else was I going to truly get what I wanted." He honestly stated, "But I believe from what I remember she found it much more pleasurable than first thought. There was a definite eroticism she will never again experience that only I gave her."

"Hey, how'd she manage not to be like you?" she inquisitively asked.

"Oh but she was, for a short time." He had turned Amy as he had done Edward Thompson but his death reversed that transformation.

"Oh," she slightly nodded, "You died."

"Yes, they destroyed me that very morning and, so, they in turn saved her." He hated thinking of his death; how painful the sun had burned his flesh and sent him into that current purgatory of a trapped but still damned soul, "But I suspect there will always be a part of me inside her. Perhaps she wonders what might have been if I had succeeded instead of her bastard boyfriend and damned Peter Vincent. I'll never know will I?"

"Guess not," she commented, "Well, at least you're not burning in hell somewhere."

His eyes frowned; he had a sense he was in a type of hell. "I have come to believe there are different variances of hell and I'm stuck in one." He confessed, "An existence more secluded than the one I had before I died. An ironic punishment I would say."

"Yeah," she somewhat sighed, "And now on top of that you have to suffer with my big mouth, smart assed remarks, and blunt opinions."

"You're more pleasant than you think." He admitted to himself not just her, "My home could've come into the hands of an elderly woman who would've filled it with over a dozen of cats. I believe I may have lucked out when you moved in. You're at least very appealing to the eyes."

"Yeah," she smirked in response to her following statement, "Coulda been worse for me. You coulda been some crispy critter looking ghost and would induce immediate vomiting."

"Oh, so, you again admit to my attractiveness." He smirked with that sly crook at the left corner of his mouth.

"Well, the least I could do since you admitted to mine." She quipped with an actual smile.

"You are very beautiful, Rose." He felt the brush of succession; her walls were almost vanished, "Have you ever been told you were beautiful?"

"Cute," she quickly answered, "Pretty. And maybe I have been called beautiful because they always say I look like my Mom and she was beautiful."

"Yes, she was as are you but you are beautiful in your own way because you're not identical to her." He explained, "You have your own beautiful face that doesn't mirror hers."

"But you obviously liked Amy's face because it definitely mirrored hers." She pointed up at the portrait.

He briefly glanced up at the portrait then looked back to her. "Yes, but there shouldn't be two faces alike." He said keeping his tone softly cunning, "That was unexpected, I admit, but the truth is that Amy wasn't the woman in the portrait and never would've been. Amy has to live her life knowing her face is shared with another's. You on the other hand, your face is your own. You're beauty is your own. Be thankful." He dared not only him but her as well; lifted his hand and brought the back of his fingers lightly brushing against the side of her face. Thankfully she didn't flinch or lean away, "You're incredibly beautiful; a very beautiful woman." He knew it was just a matter of moments that she'll cave.

Was she a woman? She was always told she was a young lady or just a teenager. Her eyes suspiciously shifted trying to look at his hand then aimed her suspicion directly at him. "Why are you being so nice?" she asked; her suspicion got the best of her, "Ain't it in your nature to be nice only when you want something?"

Oh, he wanted something alright. "Is that your experience?" he asked with a gentle intuitiveness, "Anyone who's ever been nice to you has always wanted something from you? Honestly, what motives would I have to be nice?"

"There's always an ulterior motive involved when anyone is untypically nice." She answered with that suspicion in her tone.

"Yes, you're right," he drew his hand back, "I have an ulterior motive." He watched her eyes narrow, "As I've said, I've been alone for a year and for the first time in that year I'm not alone." Closely he watched her eyes soften, "Though we've gotten off on a rocky start, I believe we could benefit from one another."

"How so?" she quickly asked; not sure if he could really be trusted, a self proclaimed vampire and womanizer.

"I get the company and the socialization I've long desired since the moment I became invisible." He stated, bit by bit his words were visibly beginning to show their effect within the expression of her face and eyes, "And perhaps you get the same in return; new to this town and without your friends. Also, just maybe you'll realize that because of what I was doesn't make me bad or evil."

Her eyes shifted down; maybe he was right. Her life seemed pretty damned pathetic since arriving there; invisible to everyone around her and at times invisible to her own father. The only open invitation she received those past few days was from a ghost and there was doubt that any other invitations would follow from the living. She didn't want to be there anymore than he did. But how screwed up it seemed to have made a connection with a dead guy who a year prior was that small community's demon. Wow, she thought, her life was damned screwy. Her eyes lifted and looked to his; there seemed to only be sincerity being expressed within the dark brown of his eyes. "This is all too damned messed up." She confessed with a slight shake of her head, "What if you turn out to be just my desperate imagination gone haywire and I wake up and you don't even exist? I'm gonna feel like a total ass and likely check myself into the nearest metal ward."

"I'm not going anywhere unless the bowels of hell happen to finally open up for me." He commented holding his tone so soft, "I'll be here every evening when the clock strikes six; that's how's been for a year and I don't see any sign of change. Though there has been one change and that's you. You may not believe me but I see you as a blessing." He could see it happening; it read clearly in her eyes that she finally caved. Time to truly test the depths of his cunning achievement; he again lifted his left hand bringing it carefully to the right side of her face. It was so nice feeling that warmth against his skin even if it were simply in a dream he assisted in conjuring but not just for her but himself as well. Though it was a dream within her unconscious mind, he could touch and feel unlike when outside her mind. That dream state was the perfect setting to do what he always did best though it became more of a challenge. He knew outside the dream he wouldn't have managed to get so close. He leaned closer preparing for that final approach, "I'm going to kiss you." He practically whispered nearing his lips to hers. Suddenly she vanished, "Son of a bitch!" he grumbled and watched his own damned essence fade before his eyes.

Rose darted up out of sleep and looked up at the concerned face of her dad's. "Shit," she breathed heavily, "Dad."

"Sorry," John apologized, "I came into the house and you weren't anywhere so I came in here. Are you feeling okay, kiddo?"

"Um, yeah," she felt a bit disorientated, "What time is it?"

"Near eight-thirty, you hungry?" he asked seeing her somewhat dazed expression, "Picked up your favorite fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy."

She started nodding, "Yeah, sounds great."

"Okay, come on down." He reached and patted her on the head then turned leaving the room.

Her eyes quickly looked around upon hearing the door close. "That was," she mumbled, "I don't know." She pulled the blankets back and brought her feet to the floor. Feeling a tad shaky she left her room to join her dad and brother in the kitchen for supper. She kept pretty quiet the entire time; two and a half hours felt like several. Her mind was scrambled, thoughts confused and mixed up. Had it all been a dream? She was beginning to have a hard time determining the differences between dream and reality. Once finished eating she took care of the paper plates and leftovers while her dad got Jacob ready for bed. She took a moment to return upstairs, somewhat reluctant, and fetched one of her mom's old nightgowns she saved from donation then retreated downstairs to hopefully shower away her shakiness. She took a long hot shower unable to get those dreamed images out of her head; it was as if he was still in her mind. After the shower she said goodnight to her dad who had just returned from tucking Jacob in for the night.

"Hey," John spoke up as Rose stepped onto the stairs, "Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, Dad." Rose glanced at her dad, "Just getting used to school and all. I'm tired that's all."

"Well, get some sleep and see you in the morning. Don't forget to set your alarm okay." John smiled and went to the living room to continue with more paperwork.

"Okay," she softly said then moved up the stairs. She stepped to the double doors and stood for a moment somewhat leery about returning to her room, not sure what was going to happen next. She took a deep breath and entered the room; so far the temperature was normal and cozy. She stepped to the bed and cranked the alarm clock for six-thirty in the morning. Turning around she scanned the room then reluctantly moved to the overhead light switch. Her hand lingered at the switch with her eyes continuing to look about the room. With another deep breath she flipped the light off then moved back to the bed. She sat down with her eyes constantly looking about the shadows. Her legs tucked under the blankets then she lay back pulling the covers up to her chest. Her eyes focused on the ceiling and gradually her eyes adjusted to the dark. There was a struggle; cautious about both falling asleep and staying awake. Both were equally off setting. She hadn't heard a single peep since her dad woke her nor seen a single hint of that ghostly presence. Maybe everything that had happened never really happened; just her mind playing tricks. She dared and closed her eyes with her hands gripping the covers.

His eyes stared down at her; kept his silence the entire time she was awake. He just hoped that all his work hadn't gone bust the moment she opened her eyes. Very watchful, he silently stood beside her bed waiting for the moment she was again brought into a deep sleep. His mind spoke out; _Sleep, Rose, sleep for me. I need you to dream; you need to dream and dream of me. _His eyes gently closed with his mind focused on hers. _Yes, Rose, I'm waiting for you in your dreams. _His lips formed their cunning grin; he felt her beginning to fall beneath the power of deep sleep. Such a fragile mind and so easily to enter and enter her mind he did the moment her eyes began to shift beneath closed lids. His eyes slowly opened and looked down at her; in their combined rooms he stood beside the bed she had brought with her. She looked peaceful still asleep though asleep within her dream, their dream. Now he had until the clocks chimed the rise of dawn.

He carefully moved onto the bed; dressed as he was in the prior dream with the shirt removed and bare foot. His eyes closely focused on her peaceful and lovely face; yes, she was beautiful, that he never fabricated. In her peaceful state he took the time to truly admire her beautiful features. Her soft oval face surrounded delicate features that were a petite well shaped nose; he brought his fingertip and lightly traced the bridge of her nose. Her lips were subtle in fullness and a naturally pale rose pink; he grazed the tip of his finger down the center of her relaxed mouth. His eyes looked to hers; a natural pink shadow over the closed lids with slightly pale reddish brown and modestly thick lashes and above were pale strawberry blonde brows with a slight arch. Yes, very lovely; he thought as his fingers curled under and brushed back against her naturally pale cheek with just a small hint of pale freckles. He leaned down; his fingers uncurled resting his hand gently against the side of her face. _Yes, I'm going to kiss you_; he spoke out through his mind.

Her closed eyes frowned, brows slightly furrowed. Her eyes darted open just as her ghost was about to finish where he left off. With a startle she pushed upward and to her left. "What do you think you're doing?" she immediately asked and looked at him; he was again too damned real.

"I was about to do what I had intended on doing before your father woke you." He blatantly answered, "I was going to kiss you."

"No shit," she quickly agreed.

"Was I wrong to assume that a kiss was about to happen earlier before that unfortunate interruption?" he asked and pushed himself seated then reached his hand to the side of her face but she leaned back while looking at him if he shouldn't be there. "I thought you wanted me to kiss you." He stated with a frown of deceptive confusion.

"I don't know," she was confused, "I thought all of it was just some crazy mind screw up. I really thought you didn't exist because, I don't know, maybe because I…" she couldn't explain any of her thoughts.

"I exist," he simply stated, "I'll prove that I exist." He again reached and she oddly leaned further back propping back with her hands against the bed, "Don't be afraid. Let me touch you and you'll feel that I exist." He watched her softly shake her head with reluctance, "Please, Rose, when I touch you it proves to me that I exist." Her reluctance was prominent in her eyes but she also was confused, "Fine then you touch me and feel that I'm real, that I exist." He swiftly took her hand in his, she hesitantly pulled back but he held firm then carefully brought her hand against the side of his face, "There, do you feel that I'm real; only in your dreams am I physical, touchable, and," he turned his head against the feel of her hand and gently pressed his lips against the heel of her hand keeping his eyes focused on hers, "And very capable of kissing you." Keeping his hand over hers he brought it down against his chest, "I want to kiss you, Rose." He stated with his voice velvety soft, "Don't you want me to kiss you?" He brought his left hand over hers keeping it pressed against his chest then slid the right down against her forearm, over the crook of her elbow and moved up against her upper arm. The desire was there in her wide eyes as it was in his. He slid his hand up over the curve of her shoulder then rested it against the side of her neck lightly brushing back the length of her hair. He leaned forward; his left hand moved, hers remained against his chest, and then reached bringing it against the other side of her neck.

Her chest heaved as her eyes widely were with his. Her heart raced; was it excitement or fear that pounded inside her chest? Her eyes shifted from frowning then relaxing; the thoughts were so damned confusing. It was just a dream, she tried convincing herself, he was just a damned dream gone badly or was it bad, she couldn't decipher. She couldn't deny what she read in those archives; the horror of that small community where a well hidden madman took lives of a few. Charley Brewster's involvement and the others as well all wove a tale that the madman was a magician, drew them all into a dark world that gave him the persona of a vampire. Then he said he was a vampire; said they killed him at the break of dawn. He said Edward Thompson wasn't his victim but died in the hands of the Fright Night host Peter Vincent. What was fact and what was fiction? What was real and what wasn't? Yes, sure, she felt his hands against the sides of her neck but it was a dream, you can feel whatever you wanted in a dream. She wasn't even sure if she wanted that dream; to be in that dream alone with the infamous monster that seemed to still haunt Charley Brewster. But was he really a monster? Oh, everything was so damned confusing; from what she read and what he had told her.

He read it all in her eyes; heard it all in her mind. She was desperately scrambling her through her thoughts for any remotely logical answer. He couldn't allow her to grasp any fears; not logical for his need of her. He needed control but to achieve it was to give her the sense of her own. "This is your dream, Rose," his voice spoke with such cunning melody, "You have control to do whatever you want in your dreams. You have control of whatever you want me to do in your dreams."

"Do I?" she questioned him and herself with a breathy tone. She watched him gently nod. Did she have control? Sometimes it seemed that way then other times it seemed he had the control.

"Go ahead," he encouraged burying his eyes deeper into hers, "Do whatever you want. Make it anything you want."

Whatever she wanted. Anything she wanted. She lightly closed her eyes repeating in her mind; whatever I wanted, anything I wanted.

His eyes shifted upon feeling the changes within the environment. His lips smirked; she was doing it, taking that bit of control he relinquished to her. The walls collapsed away into nothing before his eyes. He felt the change in the temperature; warmth filled the air. He could smell the change of scents; the distinct scent of salty air that could only come from the ocean. He hadn't been near the ocean in decades but remembered the scent all too well. His eyes again shifted, looking upward at a brilliant evening sky filled with millions of stars. He looked passed her seeing the ocean, the reflection of the moon vivid against slightly turbulent waters that was nearly the same midnight color as the sky above. Very impressive, he thought, perhaps more impressive than his own manifestations in her dreams. He refocused on her; never had he thought he would come close to the world outside the house and she managed to give him that opportunity though only in her dream. He watched her eyes finally open then looked to what she managed to create; a soft smile of remembrance crossed over her lips. This was where she believed she belonged, where she originally came from; her homeland of sorts. She gave him an intimate part of her life that in reality he could never be part of or seen.

"Huh," she was surprised, "Welcome to my home." She looked forward at him. She loved the smell, the ocean she had spent so many hours enjoying with her family during the summer months and even in the chiller months she would come with friends. Late on weekend evenings they would build bonfires and enjoyed the silence of the ocean which would amplify their love for heavy metal music. "This is where I come from." She stated, "This is where I belong not in the Midwest where the ocean is like a thousand miles away."

"Thank you for bringing me here." He sincerely thanked her, "This might only be your dream but this will be the closest I'll ever come to seeing any of this."

"Yeah, imagine if it were daylight." She commented and watched his eyes frown, "This is my dream; wouldn't you think you could survive in the daylight if it's just a dream?"

"I'm not sure if that's a risk I'm willing to take." He commented with uneasiness; last date with daylight gave him death, "But this is perfect. Night is more my element, wouldn't you agree?"

"Ha, yeah," she slightly laughed; there was a more ease having brought them both there, if only in her dream. "I think it's more beautiful at night anyways." She stated holding her soft smile.

"Exactly," he agreed; he was admittedly more impressed by her than thought possible, "You have a gift."

"A gift?" she questioned.

"Yes, you have the gift to control your dreams and make them into whatever you want. I told you." He explained and she truly had a gift, "Do you know that I haven't dreamt in a thousand years?" He watched her gently shake her head, "When a vampire sleeps it's actually in death not actually sleep. I couldn't remember a single dream I had when I was, well, technically alive. When you can't dream you forget but thanks to you," he never thought he would hear so much sincerity from his own words, "Though these are your dreams, well, they've become my own as well. Thank you."

"I guess you're welcome," she could really hear he truly appreciated whatever she had done but she guessed like every other person in the world, she took for granted the gift of dreams. Dreams were escape from reality and for him; he had no escape for what he claimed was a very, very long thousand years and truly how he was stuck, there was no physical escape from those walls of that house. "So, am I like your ticket to destinations unknown?" she joked a little, "Oh, you're gonna be getting into my head all the time now, right?"

"Only if you want me there." He answered; oh, intended to be there every time and with her gift he quite possibly could do as he once had, traveled throughout the world and all its countries. Hmm, with her around, death wasn't as bad; he smiled.

"I'll have to think about it." She sarcastically quipped and watched him curiously frown his very attractive large brown eyes, "Oh, I know better," she stated, "You can get into my head without my permission but you're not all that bad, well, in my head."

"Why thank you," he appreciated her more subtle sarcasm, "So," time to get back to the task at hand, "You never answered my question."

"What question was that?" she asked, didn't actually recall any real question before she created that little piece of dreamland memorabilia heaven.

"Now that you've created your perfect environment," he leaned closer watching as the salty ocean breeze gently tossed the lengths of her hair about the sides of her face; was an incredible refreshing feeling that imagined breeze against his own face, "Would you like the perfect kiss?"

"Perfect?" she slyly asked while lifting her hands and tucking back the strands of hair that danced brushing against her face.

"Yes, perfect," he confidently said, "The perfect environment deserves the perfect kiss."

"Well, it's my dream," she somewhat smirked, "I suppose any kiss in my dream would be perfect."

"That's the spirit." He definitely enjoyed her softer sarcasm.

"No, you're the spirit." She choked a little laugh and watched his smile fade and eyes softly narrow, "Sorry, I couldn't resist."

"No, I assumed you couldn't," he wasn't letting that opportunity get away, "And I can't resist any longer." Before she could even question him, he swiftly reached, grabbed the sides of her face and pulled her forward.

Her eyes were wide the moment his lips pressed against hers. She was stunned at first; felt the light motion of his lips, not at all aggressive as she first assumed; thought vampires would be full throttle aggressive kissers. Hell, even teenage guys were more aggressive lacking any type of restraint. Her eyes drifted closed; perhaps that was the definition of the perfect kiss. He was once a vampire and so vampires always were perfectionists; she guessed. A little soundtrack developed in her mind in response to that possibly perfect kiss. Perhaps not exactly romantic but a morbid type of romantic, tragic romantic, and sad in an obsessive way. It played forth from her mind and echoed as she heard it echo before against the sprawling cliffs surrounding the shoreline. From the depths of her mind and into that perfect environment sang the vocals of Vince Neil's within the metal ballad that was You're All I Need by Motley Crue. How many times she listened to the song over and over when something truly failed in the so called boyfriend department. Such a tragic song, she always thought, you want something so badly you would go to any lengths to get it even if it meant taking that other person's life. Yes, morbid but then again, she was being kissed by the ghost of a vampire. What's more morbid than that?

It was her dream; let her have what she wanted while he got his in return; that's what he convinced himself. Surely the music that filled the evening ocean air wasn't his taste by all means but if it got her where he needed her, so let it be. Yes, he felt inspiration in the manner she finally returned his kiss, the music definitely helped. And, yes, she was far more superior when it came to having experience, compared to the last kiss he gave to Amy Peterson. With the young, sweet, and so adorably innocent Amy, experience wasn't there which gave him complete control which typically was what he liked. Yet, Rose, young but not so sweet and far from innocent and definitely not adorable but youthfully beautiful, she didn't suffer as much from inexperience which lightened his control. It was refreshing not having the weight of maintaining complete control; gave him some breathing room, per say. It had already been a great bit of work to get where it had finally come; so much effort in such a short period of time. It was time to reap the rewards for such effort and her accepting his kiss and he hers, was only part of those rewards. He wouldn't let the likes of her heavy metal ballads side track him; he's heard worse throughout the centuries including that particular evening of dancing at Club Radio where he performed nicely with those club tunes.

Oh, yeah, she was starting to see the light though it was pretty much silhouetted by the darkness of what he truly was. The more she felt his lips kiss against hers, hers kissing his, the more she just willingly accepted it as the sickest form of fate ever dealt in her hand of life's messed up playing cards. Each card became the black king but not of spades, the king of black hearts. She sighed the moment she reluctantly allowed his lips to pull back from hers. Her eyes drifted open and formed a frown upon seeing a change in his eyes; so, that's what a vampire's eyes looked like, she guessed. Oddly she thought the red that were within his large eyes pretty, even the burning outline of orange and the very fine blackness that were the pupils. Supernatural beauty, she mentally described his eyes. And she didn't tense or frighten feeling the unnatural scrape of long nails that grazed back over her face. This was her dream; nothing to fear, not even what she knew and had felt passed his soft lips, fangs. "What's it like?" she asked him, her voice filled with soft curiosity.

"What's what like?" he asked, felt the fangs brush behind his lips. He saw the curiosity in her intuitive eyes which shifted in study of the changes he knew occurred.

She wasn't fearful seeing the subtle glimpse of his fangs. "To be bitten?" she asked, "Like what you did to Amy Peterson?"

Well, she surprised him with such a question; more curious than fearful. "I couldn't honestly say what her experience was entirely." He explained with his own curiousness about why she was asking such a question, "For what I remember, there was pain at first but I believe the pain subsided into something else. What I remember, having done it and done it more times than I could count, each one is different. Each individual person had their own response. Some might scream with fear and many have simply expressed a type of euphoria. Honestly, I never asked." He was impressed with her growth of curiosity; never really discussed that subject before with anyone, "So, I suppose it all depends on the person. As for me, there was nothing more pleasurable, that is, concerning me conducting that particular type of kiss. Yes, I prefer referring to as a kiss though it is by for more intimate than a kiss between lips." Ah, such bittersweet memories, though many of those particular kisses somewhat blended as they became more an action of pure necessity instead of real intimacy. Amy Peterson was the last time it was intimately performed. "Why do you ask?" he curiously asked; curious to her reasons.

"Just wondering," she guessed, wasn't too sure about her reasons.

He slightly turned his head with a suspicious tilt, "Are you perhaps wondering if something like that is possible here in your dreams and if you would suffer the same consequences as Amy?" he studied every shift of her expression, obviously she was curious but how curious and to what extent would she to want that curiosity satisfied.

"I don't know," she really didn't know entirely what the purpose of asking such a question was.

"I've been wondering the same thing." He confessed, sure he wanted to know if feeding was a possibility in that dreamland, "It's only a natural curiosity but I would never act on that curiosity unless permitted by you." Again, he gave the impression of control. He truly wondered if there would be any effect on her outside the dream if he did pierce her beautiful warm flesh with his fangs and if he could even indulge in the flavor of dreamlike blood. "Again, Rose, your dream, your call." He stated but with a cunning hint of encouragement.

Yes, she agreed in thought, her dream. Her eyes looked away as the thought was almost overbearing, so tempting. Should she take advantage of such a temptation? Would there be repercussions if she gave into the temptation? How could there be when it was a dream? She would be doing both of them a bit of service. If he could kiss and touch her then why wouldn't he be able to use those spectral vampire fangs? Her eyes lifted and again looked to his soft expression; not even the red of his eyes deterred her from such a tempting thought. "What do think would happen?" she asked, trying to reassure the direction she was headed.

"I honestly can't tell you." He truthfully stated but anticipated that she would give them both the opportunity to find out. He again watched her eyes shift in thought; a decision was being made and patiently he waited.

"Do you think it'll hurt, I mean because this is all a dream?" she asked, desperate to make that choice.

"Again, I can't tell you." He stated; hid his anticipation keeping his expression soft and content. Again, patience was the key; he had no choice.

She continued to think, to contemplate how to approach such an uncertain thing. "How would you do it?" she asked; full of questions and concerns.

"I'll leave that up to you." Again, he gave the impression of her control; perhaps more than an impression because she was doing quite well on her own.

"Okay," she agreed and thought more; so much thinking but it wasn't your typical light hearted subject that could be decided on a quick whim. She again looked him in the eyes, the red still brilliant and oddly beautiful. Maybe it should be approached like having sex for the first time; build up to it, not just get it over and done with. He described it as an intimate experience, well, intimacy she wanted if she was going to attempt so much uncertainty. Well, she hadn't entirely had sex, so what did she really know? She knew the steps leading up to sex, well, guessed she knew; third base was the furthest reaches into sex she ever gotten, chickened out before a true play of the game was finished. Wow, she was about to head into a totally other direction and with a ghost vampire of all things. She made up her mind but not without conditions; her dream, her conditions. "Um," she was trying to find the words to explain her conditions, "I'm not sure how to put this," she confessed feeling somewhat awkward.

He found her awkwardness attractive; her face easily blushed. "Please," he spoke up to ease her awkwardness, "I agree."

"Agree?" she frowned, was he again hearing her thoughts.

"I agree that this is an honor," he was beaming on the inside with the thought of tasting blood again, "I promise to make this a pleasurable experience for you and for myself. I don't take this lightly by all means. It might be my only opportunity as well as yours and so," he reached his hand and gently brought his lengthened fingers and nails against the side of her heated cheek, "I will take all the time needed to ensure the full potential of this intimate experience." He watched her softly nod; how lovely to see her willing acceptance that wasn't the result of mesmerizing, she did it all on her own with just little encouragement from him. His eyes focused within hers as his long fingers combed back into the length of her strawberry blonde hair. He leaned forward combing his fingers deeper beneath the hair at the nap of her neck then gently pressed his lips against hers which immediately responded without hesitation. He gradually heightened the passion of his kiss; her lips instinctively followed his lead. Damn, he missed it all; so much he had taken for granted throughout a lengthy existence never thinking for once that existence would come to an abrupt end. _Thank you, Rose_, he spoke with his mind, _Thank you for this, Rose_.

Yes, definitely he was the perfect kisser even with the fangs; she praised. None of those boys could compare to this ghostly creature's expertise; easily determined by how expertly his lips moved against hers. She pushed back any lingering fears; it was her choice, her decision to have that experience. She not once shuddered feeling the lengthy nails of his other hand move against the side of her neck then graze lightly down over her shoulder. So far it was more intimate than anything else she remotely experienced in her short life; surely a creature of his lengthy lifespan had more knowledge when it came to the art of foreplay and everything else it led up to than any damned teenage boy. Yes, he was far from a boy, way beyond that of a man. She lightly trembled but not with fear but with a type of excitement; his nails dragged down the length of her arm, the length of his thumbnail lightly grazed against the outer side of her covered youthful breast. She instinctively leaned deeper into the kiss accepting the subtle exploration of his tongue. Her hands lifted and cupped the sides of his face; didn't care that his skin was chilled compare to hers. She subtly gasped the moment he drew her back down against the bed that set before the outlook of cliffs before her created ocean view.

The heat of her skin felt almost miraculous as it burned against him. His hands practically tingled feeling her glorious body heat. His lips burned with her heat kissed against them. There was nothing like that of mortal heat; how he missed indulging in such heavenly heat. He wanted to indulge more and more; heat his own skin with the use of hers and eventually the heat of her sweet blood, so he hoped. Could he quite possibly feel more alive than when he had as a living immortal? It quite possibly felt that way. Not even his moment with Amy Peterson gave him that rush of life; the moment seemed so miniscule in comparison to his moment with Rose. His right hand moved down along the curve of her youthful hip then gathered the hem of her nightgown with his lengthy fingers and nails. She was so much more responsive to his touch; her youthful body not as intimidated by his obvious abundance of experience. No, not like those multitudes of whores who took little to seduce; they would move any way requested or expected with hopes of an earned dollar. He was definitely going to enjoy it for everything it was worth and hoped the enjoyment would undoubtedly be mutual on her part. So far, the enjoyment was mutual; of course, it was him, Jerry Dandridge.

She simply allowed herself to become lost in all of it; perhaps the only way to be in such a strange situation. If she thought it about in real depth there would most likely be as it was in all those real moments with boys; chicken out. She kept her eyes closed, focused on all the physical sensations; most were definitely new to her but pleasant nonetheless. His hands were unlike those that eagerly touched her in the past; there was firmness in the touch of exploring hands but at the same time an unlikely gentleness, assumed unlikely because of what he was or had been. He obviously wanted to take his time which she appreciated, helped to continue pushing away any reservations. Surely Amy Peterson didn't get that kind of treatment which she determined made her special. Her hands moved back against his thick dark hair; he felt damned real to her, more real than anything else ever having been part of her dreams; even more real than those boys. Maybe she just wanted it to be real then again, maybe it was real. Her body pressed upward against his the moment his hand moved beneath her nightgown and pressed a chilled but firm touch against her exposed hip. Yes, he definitely knew what he was doing because she never felt herself respond in that manner.

Hmm, he practically hummed, yes, she was falling deeper and deeper into his expert actions; not at all innocent were her responses which suited him just fine. How had he managed to forget the true pleasures of exploring a youthful and beautiful woman? Damned, he wished he would've taken his time with Amy, who knew what responses he would've truly gotten out of her virginal inexperience. He could immediately tell that Rose was technically virginal but her level of experience surpassed Amy's that was for certain. Only one who had tasted certain carnal urges could respond as she was but she definitely hadn't experienced carnal completion. There was nothing more rewarding then giving a virgin their first initial experience but by what she likely experienced, she never met true satisfaction because he knew teen boys were lousy and too damned eager to please their own needs. Well, he admitted he had fell victim to his own selfish needs far too many times but who truly would want to give pleasure to a common whore? He did have his limits to who deserved his true attention and unique affections. Oh, and he won't deny Rose because by the end he would reap the reward of tasting what his actions would fill within the delicate flavors of her blood. He would savor her incredible journey step by step then savor the flavors that were created.

His kiss intensified upon that determination; a multitude of hungers and desires were felt ignited inside him, far too long they were forced dormant. He dragged the fine tips of his nails across the width of her trembling stomach feeling her body again eagerly respond as it should. He tasted her breath the moment she heavily sighed. Such excitement feeling her arms wrap around his neck burying her lips deeper against his; again she pressed up against him. Such a firm stroke of his neglected ego hearing her soft and gasped moan the moment he delivered to her body the first true taste of pleasure and wondrous was her bodily responses. Yes, he admittedly forgot the pure rush discovering what truly pleased such a young body. Forgot the boasting of pride knowing the deed was done to pure perfection. Forgot the benefit that she would never have that first experience ever again; making him all the more desirable and definitely wanted. For someone so young, it was an addiction in the making; yes, he proudly proclaimed that he was probably the most addictive drug known to mortal women or men. Vampires were always addictive to a mortal; vampires will always be adored and envied thanks to the written words and those many films but a true vampire was even more addictive. He was to become her addiction and her his when that moment came.

She was beyond enraptured; her eyes couldn't open if she wanted them to. Her body felt on fire; nothing had prepared her for that burst into pure sexual flames. It was more than perfect; beyond her expectations. Where the hell had he been all her entrance into that swarm of teenaged hormones? That's right, he was somewhere in the world living his immortal life sucking the lives out of common hookers. Then he just happened to be haunting the damned house she moved into; fate was a total screw when it came down to it. Why hadn't she moved there when he wasn't some ghost in her dreams? Yet, would it have remotely been the same experience? She was the only one who could see or hear him and now feel in him within the confines of her sleeping imagination. Yes, where he was now, he wouldn't be if he had lived. He was her secret now and she wanted to hold onto that secret. She had no desire to share his existence with anyone; didn't want to take the chance he would be removed, taken away from her. He was the only damned stimulating thing in her current life; sure he made her miserable at the beginning but in such a short time he became of great importance. She tightened her embrace around his neck; was going to hold on to that dream, fantasy, or whatever it was. Unlike the life of her mother's, she could hold onto his ghost, spirit, or whatever the hell you call him!

His moment came; with precise action he kissed from her lips pressing his against the flush of her cheek, sweet heat. Her head eagerly shifted to the side. His hand brushed back the hair from the side of her neck and firmly he pressed his lips over that sweet heated pulse of life. Her sighs and soft moans were signal for that moment of his nature's true intimacy. His head lifted slightly as he parted his lips for the first time in a year exposing those eager fangs in all their sinister glory. Her body eagerly pressed firmer against his; the time was now. With swift and perfect precision his fangs pierced the hot flesh and, yes, he could taste the benefits of his actions with the quick burst of her practically burning blood. Oh, how he missed that ultimate finale, the sweet melody of her gasped squeal responding to the initial pain of his penetrating kiss. What divinity flavored her blood and gave life to his delicate palate. He hummed with pure delight which mingled with her euphoric moans. For heightened measure he bit harder burying his fangs as deep as possible ensuring a steady flow. But something struck him; his eyes snapped open with surprise. He drew back as she continued to softly moan. His eyes shifted and looked to her dazed expression. _Oh, Rose_. His mind spoke. _Oh, poor, Rose._ He hadn't ever expected what was read from consuming her blood. Most circumstances he ignored anything but his own selfish greed when he fed in the past. His eyes oddly softened then became alert to that call, the clocks chimed. He looked to her and again his eyes softened as he faded upon the chime of dawn.


	3. Chapter 3

FRIGHT NIGHT

1.5

Blood Atonement

Chapter Three

By

~GaGa4FrightNight~

_(Author)_

_Yeah, whatchya thinking, hmm? How you think Jerry and Rose are getting along? Ain't she just the most annoying little thing ever? Hey, wait until you read the What If Rose was part of the original storyline! She's a freaking hoot! So, you think Jerry's gonna get himself a heart in all this?_

_Loves_

_GaGa4FrightNight_

The alarm clock went off and sounded monstrously loud. She darted awake with a gasp then reached slamming her hand ending the alarm and that began the first day of a new void in her life. She peered into the mirror that morning noticing a bruise at the side of her neck but the days that followed the bruise faded. The followed days upon the chime of the clocks her ghost didn't return and he didn't invade her dreams. Maybe he was just a dream but it didn't explain the faded bruise on the side of her neck. She'd return home from school every day with the hopes he would again manifest but he didn't. By the weekend the rest of the belongings in the basement were being removed; those clocks being taken away and seemed to take him with them. She did, however, steal something from the basement; clothes that she knew were his. He couldn't have been just a dream; it was too real to be just a mere dream. She knew his name before she read it in those archives. There was sinking feeling inside her that again something was taken from her right when she determined she needed it. Now she again felt alone.

Days then weeks dragged on and on for poor Rose. She suffered through dinner with the neighbors; Charley of course didn't attend and she was glad he hadn't. School didn't change, not a single friend was made for she held back and cowered away from her peers maintaining her invisibility amongst them. She withdrew further from her dad and brother; hid away in the seclusion of her bedroom. Her appetite changed, seemed miniscule at best; was it the result of that miraculous moment she was so curious about? Had she been somehow infected or was it just her cruel mind that conjured that moment with him? She dwelled persistently on it all; her mind overrun with ideas, scenarios, and completely frustrating confusion. When time came for Thanksgiving break she didn't accept the invitation to spend the holiday with the family back east. Her dad was hesitant to leave her alone but she ensured him she would be fine; produced a yarn that she was going to attend a 'friend's' family dinner. Her dad and brother left that weekend and she alone in her lonely world or was she?

Yes, he hadn't shown himself but he was there, always would be there because he was stuck within those walls. But why hadn't he shown himself to her? What possessed him to set aside those motives he had tirelessly strived to achieve? Night after night he struggled with what he had learned, what her blood revealed upon his tasting. Had his year without tasting the delectable blood heightened his palate which alerted him? Had centuries of feeding dulled that delicate palate of what now he was capable of tasting? He didn't know but something was truly tasted and somehow forced him to oddly retreat. He would stand beside her bed while she slept, silent in his troublesome thoughts for all those hours; no longer technically alone but strangely made himself scarce by not speaking to her or entering her dreams. He never had that difficulty in his immortal life. Had a year of ghostly living weaken him, not physically, but weaken his typically harsh nature that fed his greed and selfish needs? Just standing there watching her sleep didn't alleviate any of his worrisome emotions. Since when did he have a conscience? He never had a damned conscience; not once did he hesitate even when Amy Peterson looked at him in fear, simply took it as a slight speed bump. What the hell was wrong with him? Had death truly taken away most of his vampire nature's instincts to not give a damn? He didn't have any damned answers that's for certain and it frustrated the hell out of him! And he had a serious issue wanting to speak up, to say something, and it was a persistent struggle all the damned time, each passing hour. He seemed obsessed and unable to desist from standing there watching her.

John and Jacob left for the east coast on a Saturday morning; Rose waved goodbye with a smile on her face but the moment they vanished from sight her smile faded. She looked different, felt different, and thought different. Her naturally pale skin seemed paler, eyes a bit hallowed, and inside she felt pain, emotional and physical pain. She entered the house closing and locking the door. She retreated to her room, always her room nowhere else. She entered the bedroom and crawled back under the covers. All she wanted to do was sleep and sleep and sleep; perhaps hoped he would again show up. Her dreams seemed lifeless; odd since that lifeless ghost was no more, her dreams became lifeless. It seemed only when he was there she could transform her dreams into whatever she wanted them to be. She woke from those colorless dreams and sat up seeing there was daylight still peeking through the seam surrounding the shades. She reluctantly got out of bed and went downstairs to ease whatever aches that seemed to have developed in the depths of a steaming bath.

In a ritualistic fashion she sunk down in the tub with her headphones over her ears playing, oddly, not her typical heavy metal, but his music. She actually developed a liking for his weird instrumental music and with her troubled state of mind the music seemed almost soothing. She started humming the melody that also played from the music box. Through the music she swore she heard the clocks but they were removed from the basement. She sat up and pulled the headphones back and listened; was it her mind playing tricks on her? Damn her mind, she frowned then adjusted on her side and leaned against tub keeping her back to the bathroom door. She slipped the headphones back over her ears but her eyes focused on the window; it was almost complete darkness passed the window. She closed her eyes, her mind focused on the instrumental; heard all the different electric keyboard notes and drums but the most powerful was the sound of the electric violin.

She sighed, the water had cooled. She stiffly shifted then pulled herself up. Out of the tub she did the typical stuff, dried off, blow dried her hair, then dressed comfortably. She raided the fridge, grabbed a soda and red apple. She crawled onto the sofa flipping through channel after channel while crunching down into the apple. It seemed like hours and hours sitting there flipping through a bunch of nonsense; useless commercials and television shows. She got up off the sofa near ten-thirty to fetch another soda and apple. She flopped back down and crunched into the apple. Her eyes frowned; the room felt as if it were getting colder. She shook her head; trying to deny herself any hopes; to forget was probably her best option. She pulled the quilt up higher and again bit into the apple. "I miss fruit." She froze in mid bit then slowly her head turned with her eyes following. Not a dream, her mind screamed and almost spilled out of her mouth. There he was, sitting casually on the other end of the sofa still wearing the gray trench, red scarf, dark gray slacks, and snap button shirt. Her hand slowly lowered and the apple rolled from her loosened grip falling to the floor. Just when she had given up he suddenly appeared. She was speechless staring at him; watched him finally turn his head and look at her.

"Whatever you do," he spoke up, "Please don't watch Fright Night when it comes on at eleven; besides the poor quality of the movies, I loathe Peter Vincent with a passion as you might understand."

She slowly nodded while somewhat chewing the piece of apple. "Where the hell you been?!" she finally found her voice and it was angry, "I thought I lost my damned mind and you were just something my screwy head came up with."

"I've always been here." He stated actually disliking the slight sickly appearance that had developed within those passing weeks.

"Bullshit," she snapped, "I would've known."

"Not unless I wanted you to know." He explained.

She sat up from leaning against the sofa arm, "And why the hell would you do something like that? Did you want me to think I went bonkers?" she couldn't hold back her frustrations.

"No," he replied, "And I did it because it felt like the right thing to do."

"For you or for me?" she quickly asked.

"Both," he vaguely answered.

"What gives?" she wasn't satisfied, he gave no damned real answer, "You bugged the hell out of me to acknowledge you and then you just up and ignored me in return? You're a shithead just like any living and breathing guy. Get what the hell you wanted and up and go poof." She crossed her arms over her chest, "Why the hell did you bother showing your damned face again?"

"Rose, I understand you're upset," he spoke trying to be sympathetic and understanding.

"Bullshit!" she grumbled, "Big bullshit! I really thought I imagined you then I was confused because how could I imagine any of it; how could I possibly know your name before I read about you?" She tossed the quilt off her then stood up from the sofa, "Even dead guys are insensitive assholes!" she shouted and marched out of the living room, "Just disappear again!" she headed for the stairs then stomped upstairs ignoring the ache seemingly nagging throughout her body. She tossed open her bedroom doors then slammed them closed. Immediately the room temperature dropped and she knew he was again manifesting himself. "Go away again!" she shouted then climbed onto the bed.

"I don't want to," he spoke up stepping forward from the shadow of the entryway, "I was wrong for having kept silent. Perhaps I would've left it like that a year ago but I can't now."

"Oh, shut up!" she yelled then tucked into a tight ball beneath the covers. She had a sickening feeling starting to nag inside her gut.

"Rose, I have to tell you something." He announced, "Please, listen to me."

"What?!" she snapped huddling under the covers with her eyes tightly closed.

"I've struggled with this, believe me I have but I determined I have to tell you." He explained stepping up to the bed, "I haven't showed myself because I was struggling with what I discovered. I'm typically, well, was typically a greedy son of a bitch that ignored anything that remotely didn't play in my favor." He couldn't believe he was about to tell her; wasn't anything like his typical nature, "This goes against everything I once represented and you have to understand that it's taking me a lot of time to come to this decision." He stared down at her as she refused to look at him, "Rose, you're not well."

"Yeah, I'm fucked in the head." She grumbled.

"No, Rose, your head is fine and you're not insane." He slightly shook his head, "I mean you are not well, physically you're not well. There's something inside you, Rose, I tasted it in your blood. How I managed to taste it, I can't figure it out because I've never caught anything like this in all my life."

Her eyes frowned then snapped open and shifted looking up at him through the corners of her eyes. "What are you talking about?" she wasn't sure if she really wanted to hear anything he had to say.

"Rose, how did your mother die?" he asked and watched her eyes slightly widen upon his question.

"What's that got to do with anything?" she asked, confused and fearful at the same time.

"Tell me," he urged her, almost pleaded.

"Cancer, Leukemia." She reluctantly responded.

There it was; that's what he tasted, cancer of the blood. "It's inside you." He stated, though it sounded harsh, "I'm sorry but I couldn't continue without saying a single word."

"That's impossible." She commented and pushed up seated, "You couldn't tell that when you did that. It wasn't real, it was just a dream."

"Was it?" he asked, "How do you explain the bruise on your neck that morning?"

Her eyes frowned then softened with realization, a horrible realization. Her eyes dropped; that was way too much information. "Why did you tell me this?" she asked but didn't look at him, "Why do you even give a shit about anything like that? What benefit do you get out of telling me that…" she couldn't say it.

"There's no benefit," he sincerely stated, "Like I said, I struggled with this knowledge my entire absence. I normally don't give a shit but for some damned reason, unbeknownst to me, I guess I came to give a shit."

"So I'm dead," she commented, "They can't do shit for it. I watched my Mom suffer through their so called treatments, get sicker and sicker." She forced herself to look up at him, such a weight across her furrowed brows, "You should've kept quiet and left me oblivious. You've ruined your bad boy image by being truthful but unfortunately that truth doesn't do me any good." She wrapped her arms against her abdomen. Her eyes dropped and stared vacantly at the bed. Yeah, she understood there was always a chance but hoped it wouldn't happen. Her eyes closed; in her mind came those images of her mom's horrible struggle throughout the entire process. The treatments took so much life out of Anne Garrett but she always managed to smile through the pain, the suffering, and the knowledge that the battle couldn't be won. The hair she proudly shared with her mom, once thick and lustrous strawberry blonde thinned and eventually died and fell out. Her mom's face became hallow; her entire body seemed to wither from the sickness. A beautiful woman transformed into a shell of her former self but there was always a smile even at the end. The last night when reluctant goodbyes were spoken; she remembered such a soft and content smile over her mom's bluish and dry and cracked lips. There was always that smile that haunted her; how could someone manage to smile knowing they were going to die? She turned and lay back down against the bed curling her body into a ball keeping her arms hugged against her abdomen. How could anyone truly respond to such a revelation?

What was wrong with him? He asked himself that question hundreds of times the very moment he knew the tragedy brewing inside her. He never gave a second thought to death; his own he had but never the deaths he caused throughout his lengthy existence. He never felt guilt, regret, or anything concerning death. Another's death was his survival. His brows furrowed with confusion; confused by his own actions and thoughts. Typically he anticipated a death when given by him, a dealer of death of sorts; chose the victim and took their life without a single thought. Now he had the reluctant knowledge that someone, that she was likely going to face death but not in any romantic nature performed by a vampire. There was no euphoria in her future; no moment of ecstasy before death. Her death would be callous, slow, and meaningless. Even his death was swifter than what hers would become. The tragedy of true mortality was before him; disease was to be the dealer of death. She was so young, could have a full life ahead of her if not for the cancerous disease swarming within her blood. Blood, yes, blood. How he loved blood but her blood was the deliverer of more suffering than he had ever physically inflicted on any victim. Blood was once the giver of his life and now blood would be the taker of hers. Yes, you live so long you forget so much; live for only yourself and others become meaningless. What the hell happened to him and his nature of never giving a damn?

Her eyes opened, lined with a swell of tears. The tears weren't necessarily brought by her own mortality but by memories of what she witnessed of her mom's painful journey leading to death. She saw what her dad had gone through; so much emotional pain he suffered watching his beloved Anne die before his very eyes. Even the effects of their mom's death were visible when Jacob was merely eight; such a young mind having to adjust to the reality that their mom was gone. She heavily sighed; what she felt inside her body was that what her mom started to feel before the diagnosis? It was one of those things that slowly crept up; bit by bit the signs were there but simply assumed something else. She bared witness to the pain but what had it truly felt like? She heard the cries of agony when believed she couldn't hear them. She heard the bouts of vomiting late at night, the treatments seemed more painful than the illness itself. Her eyes frowned; did she even want to attempt go through those treatments? It seemed they only did more harm than good when it came to her mom. Would it be the same for her? She didn't want the pain, vomiting, or physical changes. Her eyes blinked and forced free a trickle of tears.

Was there any more to say? He kept silent in his own confusing and troubling thoughts but there were also her thoughts. Her every thought was loud. Every description her thoughts remembered about the death of her mother he heard. Her mind was full of nothing but slow death, her mother's and ultimately her own. He had never truly thought of images such as her thoughts described. Most images he knew were the body slowly being drained into death and he never looked at the bodies after Billy had decapitated them, always snuggly wrapped in trash bags and discarded. Certainly he witnessed throughout the centuries the deaths from plagues and famines but never gave much thought because it couldn't touch him. He had always been immune to anything that inflicted mortal man which eventually made him immune to the emotions involved with death and its dealings. He eventually found amusement in pursuing the deaths of others; a game of sorts when he used his undeniably skillful wiles but in ways he was always tentative, never made a bloody mess like that of a starved beast tearing into their prey. His nature made him a neat and clean killing beast; hated messes, didn't want a huge mess to clean up, well, for Billy to clean up. Yes, he had always been a meticulous killer; ease into the kill to savor the moment. Ah, but there was no ease to be had for her, for poor Rose.

He turned from looking at her; his eyes looked to the fireplace mantel at the ivory music box. His head slightly tilted and within his dark eyes came a remembrance. Why the music box? What had been the importance of keeping such a feminine trinket? How long could one go without thinking of their personal tragedies? He had for centuries until the evening his eyes looked upon the familiar face of Amy Peterson's. Oh, he knew it was only the face that was familiar, nothing else, yet, perhaps the innocence, but Amy Peterson would never have been the mysterious woman in the portrait; he knew it but still wanted something more than a portrait. It was that want that pushed him to do more than kill her; greed from tragedy, was how he described it. Mortal tragedy was another descriptive term he came to call it. He hated being reminded of that mortal tragedy and seeing Amy was that hated reminder. His hand reached and attempted to touch the trinket music box but simply his fingers passed through. Perhaps he understood too well about death and the loss it gives. After centuries a type of hardening occurs and that loss simply became buried and buried until it seemingly no longer existed.

Rose now was sitting; not hearing another word from the bearer of bad news caused to check if he was even still around. She stared at him as he stood facing the mantel and witnessed his attempt to touch the music box. Yes, she determined right then, there was more to that vampire ghost than he let on and was evident upon him taking a moment to share what he discovered what was festering inside her. Maybe he wasn't a total shithead; a complete monster that probably depicted his entire existence. Her lips softly smiled; always a smile. If that was to be her life, to die at a young age then why not do it with a damned smile on her face just as her mom had. There was no changing the facts and a decision was made; no suffering through ill fated treatments. Perhaps she made that decision two years back after having witnessed her mom's journey; not going to happen to her, maybe death, but not unnecessary suffering. She cleared her throat and watched him turn his head. She held her smile and repeated in her head, always a smile. "Hey, don't beat the shit outta your dead self about telling me." She spoke up, "I woulda found out eventually when I was dragged to the hospital and poked with needles." She shrugged, "What's done is done. As they say, life's a bitch then you die. Hey, you know that. Your life was a huge and really long bitch then you died." She watched his eyes frown as he turned to the side; yep, holding tightly to her sarcasm because what else was going to keep her always smiling?

"I'm sorry," he said with sincerity, "I'm honestly sorry."

"Don't go getting a damned heart now." She slightly shook her head with that held smile, "You're a dead vampire, vampires don't give a shit or they aren't supposed to let on that they give a shit. You go all softy then we'll have a real problem because you'll ruin my impression of ya. You're an asshole. And just because we got all frisky in my head doesn't mean you have to grow a pulse of emotion." She huffed, "Don't ruin this for me by ghostly tiptoeing around me like I'm one of those," she pointed at the dresser where on top four porcelain dolls stood, "You never once gave me the impression you were a damned pussy so don't go acting like one because that ain't gonna work. I ain't dead yet, you are, but I'm not. So, screw it, this is my life." She tossed her arms and hands in the air.

He wasn't sure how to think which had become a more recent problem. He blinked, still not sure how to think. "Well," he finally spoke but not sure what to say, "My advice to you is make the most of your life." Yeah, after centuries you actually run out of idea to make the most of immortality; perhaps why he got a kick outta screwing with Charley Brewster.

"Ha," she laughed, "Says the dead guy!"

"You're amazing," he sarcastically stated, "A smart ass no matter the circumstances."

"Yep, that's me." She shrugged, "And, you know what, while I'm still around," her eyes somewhat frowned, strange to speak that way but that was the way it was, "I'm gonna try to help ya out, Jerry Dandridge."

"Oh, really," he continued to frown at her chipper attitude, "And how are you going to help me, Rose Garrett?"

"Well, Monday I'm going to get off my ass," she had a plan, what that was, it still wasn't totally clear, "And I'm hitting up every damned bookstore and the library. I'm gonna use my intellect and see what it finds concerning your circumstances. Who knows, there might be cure out there in the occult world for the likes of you and your situation."

"I'm highly doubtful," he stated, his circumstances were probably as helpless as hers, "But the effort is appreciated but not necessary."

"I know it's not necessary." She grumbled back at him, "Throw this gonna be dying chick a damned bone. Don't underestimate this," she tapped her finger against her temple, "It works just fine; just seems like it doesn't."

He gave a short laugh and confessed, "I hate admitting this but you're sorta growing on me."

"Oh, hell, I'd better be after that little thingy in my dreams." She chimed, her smile genuine, "That was the only action your ass has seen in, what, a year."

His lips slightly puckered with his eyes softly narrowed; she was right. "So, what now?' he asked, typically her question, "What are your plans until Monday?"

"Hey, you asking me out on a ghostly date?" she quickly asked, "Do vampires ever really go on dates? I mean hiring a hooker for the night ain't a date. Do you know how pathetic that sounds?" she coyly smirked, "Look at ya and you used to hire hookers." She shook her head finding it so damned wrong that something that looked like him hired hookers, "Surely you coulda actually picked up a normal chick with the flash of your eyeballs and gave her at least a final dinner and a movie. Hell you coulda showed up with a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates that you coulda later on dumped with her; like a signature of sorts." Her eyes frowned, was she really that morbid, apparently she was but it was almost humorous, "Seriously," she again looked at him and there was a glint of amusement in his dark eyes, "I could like pop some of Dad's sleeping pills and be like out in like thirty minutes." If she had gone insane then so be it. Her life was basically on the verge of becoming nonexistent once that disease took over and did its course through her body; she didn't give a shit anymore.

"A date," he found the concept strange but what better things did he have to do, nothing. He watched her give a quick nod then made a little quip, "A dream date with your dream guy."

"If you wanna put it that way," she continued to nod, "And, yeah, a simple reminder; you're full of yourself."

He smirked, damn straight he was. "How else would I be?" he more so stated than asked.

"Okay then," she scrambled out from under the blankets then stood up; felt as if she had some serious adrenaline pumping inside her, "Gonna go take them pills then I'm gonna watch Fright Night and see what that shit's all about."

"Oh, you'll definitely be asleep in no time." He commented with his eyes following her as she excitedly left the room.

She popped two sleep aides in to her mouth and swallowed it down with the help of a Coke. She entered the living room and plopped down on the sofa then stretched out under the quilt. She flipped the channels trying to find that late night horror show and upon several passes through the channels she caught the image of blood dripping letters formed into the words Fright Night. "_Wel-come to Frrr-igh-t Niii-gh-t_!" his voice sang over the voice over on the television. She glanced to the other end of the sofa and smirked seeing him again casually sitting there with an arm rested across the back of the sofa and his legs crossed at the ankles. "You said that before didn't you?" she asked with amusement.

"Unfortunately I have." He stated and glared at the television the moment Peter Vincent filled the screen. Same old tacky backdrops and set props while the old actor wore his signature vampire killing attire. How he truly hated that man; found him annoying before they actually met. All those pathetic displays of heroism poorly acted and represented vampires; made him wish he could vomit. He turned his eyes from the television and blocked out the sound of Peter Vincent's English accented and overly acted words. "You should reconsider subjecting yourself to this type of torment." He suggested, "Well, and me."

She started yawning, "Everyone, even a dead guy needs a good laugh at someone's else expense." She rested her head against the sofa arm looking to the television, "He actually helped kill you, huh?"

"Shocking, I know." He commented and reluctantly looked forward at the television; the movie was quarter into its poorly designed plot, if there was one, "Who would've thought that Peter Vincent the Great Vampire Killer could indeed kill a vampire? Sure in the hell I didn't."

Again she yawned. "Must've been a huge kick in your vampire balls being killed by an old guy and a teenager." She commented and again yawned, the pills were beginning to take effect. She sleepily giggled upon seeing the so called vampire; typical black ensemble with a frilly white shirt and slicked back hair. "Ain't like looking in a mirror, is it?" she again giggled.

"If I looked like that I would've been glad not having a reflection." He commented and smirked hearing her sleepy giggles.

"Yeah," she again yawned feeling her eyes growing heavy, "He ain't no Jerry Dandridge."

His smirked shifted into a smile upon hearing her compliment. His eyes looked to her; her eyes started to flutter and lose focus on the television. _Yes, escape to your dreams, Rose_. His mind spoke. _In your dreams, Rose, you can't be touched by any damned disease; touched by me, yes._ His eyes closed and focused waiting the moment those pills completely took her beneath that heavy shroud of sleep. Her dreams were his escape as well and he gladly accepted the invitation to join her. And into her dream he manifested; it was once again that club scenario but not entirely created by him but her as well. Yes, it was a part of his memories, yet, of course it was her influence with the damned music. He frowned, had a sense he was somehow repeating that one evening in one way or another. It was all too real looking around the crowded club standing there where he had over a year ago. He glanced down at himself seeing he was damn well wearing the same damned clothes then shook his head. And, now, the dilemma; where the hell was Rose in all that clubber chaos?

Rose remembered those tidbits of information Jerry Dandridge had shared about his pursuit of the little darling Amy Peterson inside Club Radio. Those tidbits she brought into her dream and gave it a whole new life, tidbits of her. She was amongst those disco freaks that were in that previous club scenario and again she was dressed in her own fashion statement mixed with that heavy metal glam and something she found in the basement and kept; someone's snazzy grayish blue blazer with the sleeves folded exposing her forearms and beneath was a midriff cropped Lizzy Borden band tee which also was the current choice of music; her fishnet gloved fists pumped to the beat of Me Against the World. Her strawberry blonde hair was piled atop the crown of her head in a bundle of slightly ratted and crimped waves. On her stomping feet were black low heels and white socks folded under with black lace trim. Her legs kicked up at the knees while pounding her heels against the floor; working steadily beneath the flow of a thin black knit cotton with numerous slits exposing each leg with each kick. She loved to dance, loved music, and it was the perfect escape within that dream escape.

That was worse than déjà vu as he moved into the dancing crowd which each individual seemed so out of sync to the chosen music. His eyes continued to frown against the overwhelming familiarities while scanning passed the moving bodies. "Alright, Rose," he said with a whisper, "Where are you?" He knew all that was needed was to look for the only heavy metal head banging individual since everyone else was stuck in a more disco groove. Damn, he wouldn't really consider this an escape; a damned reminder was what it was. The music changed and he recognized the song immediately; the one particular song that seemed stuck in her thoughts the moment she finally looked at him. His eyes continued to search and then there she was as predicted, bouncing around with her fists in the air and obviously content in thrashing about to the hard rock melody. His eyes frowned; wait, he knew that blazer all too well. Ah, the exact blazer he wore during drinks with Charley Brewster's easily charmed mother and the exact blazer worn during his attempt on Charley's life; he wished he had just thrown the little shit through and out the window instead.

She opened her eyes and smiled upon seeing her ghost had finally spotted her; wasn't hard to do when she was the only talented dancer in the dreamed joint. She waved at him as he gracefully moved his way through the passing bodies. This was her ideal date night; heavy metal music, great clothes, and a smoking hot dead guy as a date. She continued to smile as he stepped in front of her crossing his arms over his chest. "What's the matter?" she shouted over the music, "Jealous because I make this jacket look good?!" She laughed while keeping pace to the music; hadn't missed a damned beat once. "Alright, you mentioned you danced with the one who shall remain nameless." She commented loudly over the music.

"What of it?" he asked over the music.

"Well, do you have moves or not?" she laughed while doing a spin on those low heels swinging her arms.

"Not to this music." He stated while shaking his head; she was so hyper bouncing around wearing his damned blazer. Oh, he had moves; she could go ask Amy Peterson about that fact but likely that little sweetheart wouldn't admit having enjoyed herself. Yes, she enjoyed herself; enjoyed it immensely the moment he guided her virginal body into sexual moves not even Charley Brewster could've provoked.

"Well, I'll give you permission to change the tunes but if I fall into a coma of boredom it's entirely your damned fault!" she again laughed pointing at him watching his lips form that attractive smirk, "Gimme what ya got, vampire Jerry Dandridge! You had some moves the other night doing the horizontal tango," she continued to laugh, "Show me some of your so called vertical moves."

"Challenge accepted," he stated with a cunning smirk then uncrossed his arms as the loud heavy metal slowly died beneath another emerging melody.

"Yippy!" she shouted and excitedly clapped her hands but her excitement momentarily faded upon hearing his choice of music begin to form; Good Man at Bad Time, "Not this again!" she loudly stated then planted her hands on her hips, "Let me guess, this," She lifted her hand with her finger pointing in the air, "This you danced with what's her name, didn't ya?"

"Hey, you chose this setting, I didn't." he commented, "Familiar setting, familiar attire, and why not familiar music, hmm?"

"Well, at least it ain't sappy!" she grinned, "Alright, whatchya waiting for; use the same moves if that's all you got."

"Oh, that's not all I got," he firmly stated with a slow shake of his head, "I refuse to use the same moves on you." He pointed at her then turned his hand and coiled his finger summoning her to him.

"Yay!" she shouted then literally jumped forward in front of him, "Hey, everyone!" she shouted out to the imagined clubbers, "I'm gonna dance with a dead vampire!" She looked at him and wrinkled her nose shaking her head, "I don't think the disco freaks heard me."

He rolled his eyes; time to meet the challenge. Swiftly he reached bringing his arms around her waist and gathered her against him. Damn, it's been a while but he hadn't lost one bit of his moves. Moving both hands against the small of her back and his eyes looking down and deeply into hers he eased into a sexual rhythm. His hands moved forward over her hips feeling the quality material of his blazer; damn he had undoubted fashion sense and taste. His hands worked upward beneath the blazer then gripped the lapel and slowly guided the blazer back over her shoulders, one exposed by the widened cut collar of the band tee. She held a smirk while watching his expression closely as his hands guided the blazer down the length of her arms; the blazer dropped to the floor. His fingers wrapped around her wrists and slowly he guided her arms around his neck then grazed his fingertips down the bare length of her arms and returned his hands down against her back. Aiming his fingers down he pressed his hands firmly as they slid passed the small of her back then moved over the shape of her youthful rear. With a nudge forward she was firm against him and raised the sexuality of his motions.

She was your typical bouncing around madly rocker chick when it came to dancing; never remotely experienced what would become known as dirty dancing (_Jerry Dandridge was doing it way before Patrick Swayze_). Yet, she could greatly appreciate such suggestive dancing and silently admitted that he did have some serious moves in his own unique sexual way. Didn't mind at all where his hands had roamed. Definitely didn't mind the manner his body moved against hers which heightened the smirk over her lips. She also had no problem in the way his eyes focused on hers and the pure sexuality that radiated from them. It would likely be the only time in her life to have that experience though it was sadly only her dream, not in reality where she felt it should be. There would be no prom to dance with a prom date. That ghostly entity was now her only source of having any of those experiences. And, as tragic as it should seem, she was at ease with it. Her lips formed a soft smile; always a smile.

The song faded and just for him she urged another to begin; one she knew that was definitely his taste. She watched his eyes slightly frown upon hearing that familiar instrumental begin to rise. She softly smiled, "Yeah, you and your damned music grew on me." She commented and one by one she made those disco freaks vanish. She tightened her arms around his neck and leaned against him. She slightly rose on her tiptoes, brushed the side of her face against his then whispered, "Mood music."

His eyes held their frown; it wasn't her or her softened demeanor that confused him, it was his. He listened to the soft melody; the one that was a reproduction of the music box's. That particular melody had become an almost soundtrack to his life and existence, not only represented the woman in that portrait. Oddly, it seemed, the melody began a whole other meaning and new representation for him. It changed the first evening he managed to open the music box after Rose had placed it atop the mantel. Over his face developed a somber expression. His eyes seemed frozen as were the etched lines between his furrowed brows. There was definitely something unlikely happening inside him; had death stripped him of his protective and unemotional walls? What death had left behind didn't seem him at all, not in comparison to the vampire he was in life. Nothing about him seemed the same; it became obvious the very moment he noticed the new resident in his home. Yes, he desperately clung to his evil son of a bitch persona but gradually that was whittled down until it left him seemingly emotionally bared. There were no real answers to any of it. Nothing could answer why it just happened to be Rose to feel his presence when others who had dared stepping foot in that house couldn't. Why Rose? Was it perhaps because of that looming death that opened her to his presence? No answers, there were no real damned answers to any of it!

"Okay, this is depressing!" she suddenly chimed, "Kinda more of a mood killer than enhancer." She brought her arms back, wanted more of a boost than a downer. "Sorry, no offense to your tunes." She stepped back and couldn't help but notice the troubled expression about his face and across his eyes. "What's wrong?" she asked and his eyes finally looked at her but unchanged, "Something wrong?"

He finally blinked then slowly shook his head.

"You already died," she spoke up, "You shouldn't be the one looking as if you're gonna die." She jumped back with a little hop, "Let's ditch this dive!" she spun around and around and around lifting her arms out with her head tilting back. Her eyes focused high above, brilliant stars sparked to life almost one by one dotting a midnight sky. She smiled smelling the distinct aroma of the salty ocean air, crisp and fresh within a flowing cool breeze coming off the developed nighttime waters. An orange glow of a bonfire illuminated over her as her bare feet spun shifted against the cooled sand. She eased her spin; the hem of a simple knee length sun dress lowered and brushed against her legs then lightly tossed in the ocean breeze. "Listen," she spoke up as the faint rise of an amazing electric guitar reflected off the base of the surrounding cliffs, "It's one my all time favorite song beginnings!" She started humming with the haunting melody Screaming In the Night performed by Krokus. The vocals were comparable to that of the raspy singer of AC/DC but with higher reaching and harmoniously beautiful vocals. Such a mournful song, she thought, but so powerful with its vengeful meaning; avenging a tragic death of an undying love. Why did she love such tragic songs? Perhaps it was easier to bond with such disheartening lyrics.

His eyes watched her closely as she seemed consumed by, yes, a very powerful ballad. Yes, he noticed the pattern of most of her loved music; so many songs shared the same tragic theme. Songs contained so much mournful undertones; regret, guilt, and loss by death. Yet, she danced to that heavy metal sadness with a soft smile. He lightly closed his eyes hearing the echoing sounds of the electric guitars sing harmoniously with high mournful cries; similar to that of the electric violins within his music. His eyes drifted open seeing her gently come to an end to her fire illuminated dance. She seemed to glow within that orange illumination; her strawberry blonde bolder with deepened red tones and with an almost silken sheen as it gently flowed within the breeze. She didn't mirror the image of someone who was to receive death; her soft smile was deceptive to that tragic fact. She quite possibly was the most beautiful image he had ever seen. She was so full of life though death was brewing inside her preparing to steal that life. There was so much light in her blue eyes and throughout the features of her face; a light he knew would eventually dim and go completely out. How he wouldn't give to not just being a damned ghost; he would've personally seen that light would never go out. He felt actual anger knowing her fate. What he wouldn't give to have the opportunity to give her everlasting life. As her thoughts had once spoken; why hadn't she come before his death, why now?

He stepped forward feeling beneath the soles of his bare feet the cool sand. His hands reached then swiftly grabbed the sides of her face; she startled and gasped. He brought his lips against hers obviously taking her by surprise. He wished that immortal dreamt kiss would've infected her, brought her one death then replaced it with eternal life. He deepened his kiss feeling her finally respond after the surprise wore off. In a swift movement he brought her down against the sand before the heat of the bonfire. He felt that still burning life inside her; the passion was there but he knew when the disease took its complete effect it would suck away that passion. Hell, he once thrived to suck; suck 'em dry and toss them aside like trash, was once his immortal life's motto. Damn, did that determine he once was no better than a life sucking cancerous blood disease? It was a revelation that typically he would never have had, not until recent. Amazing what being truly dead for a year had transpired that not even a thousand years of life did.

What the hell just came over him; was what went ripping through her mind. His approach was far more aggressive than the previous. Yeah, she didn't think too ill of it; he being a true control freak seemed more understandable and suitable for what he really was and she did state she wanted him to continue with his natural ways. But, woe, something surely flipped his switch and flipped it hard. She could barely catch a breath while attempting to keep up. It was difficult trying to keep up with bases being scrambled; first a graze of third base then he jumped over second hitting first base over and over and took a jump backwards sliding into second but not once did he head for a homerun and the entire time he was swinging the bat striking the ball out of the park. Really, was she thinking of baseball sex metaphors when he was no damned teenaged guy?!

"Yes, my sentiments exactly," he commented having briefly stopped and now looking down at her; watched her eyes snap open with surprise, "How creative you are, you surely could come up with better metaphors concerning me."

"Wait a damned minute," she somewhat mumbled, "You've been reading my damned thoughts all this damned time?"

"Did you think it just upped and vanished?" he asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"Um," she stammered and couldn't come with anything excuses why she assumed they had then shrugged.

He waited but nothing. His eyes frowned then shifted, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" she asked looking around.

"Hmm, nothing," he commented, "For moment there was nothing but peaceful silence."

Her eyes narrowed up at him. "Oh, you shithead," she grumbled with a grin then shoved her hands against his chest, "Get off me." She pushed the heels of her feet into the sand and scooted back, "You were stealing bases to damned quickly anyways." She rose up onto her feet brushing the sand off her backside while giggling at her again lame metaphor, "We've got all night."

He looked up at her with a smirk; she looked lovely with blushing cheeks. "Yes, but we could have a lot of fun all night as well." He commented with a sly lift of his brows then reached his hand to her, "Fun on repeat just like that song you always play in your head when you look at me."

Her mouth subtly gaped in response to his knowledge. "Oh, that's not fair that you know what I'm thinking all the damned time when I haven't a clue what's going on in that ghost brain of yours." She crossed her arms over her chest. Her mouth went to spout out another word but some odd light struck her in eyes causing her to wince. Her head darted to the right looking into an actual beam of a flashlight. "Hey, what are ya doing out here?" a voice asked from behind the beam of the flashlight. She quickly looked down at him and asked, "Did you?" She watched him slowly shake his head then rise up on his feet focusing passed the bonfire. She lifted her hand blocking out the flashlight. "What are ya two doing out here?" the voice again asked. She didn't know what to say; didn't understand what was happening, "Hello, did ya hear me?" She recognized the accent, a typical north eastern accent.

"Ah," she mumbled, "I, ah…" she looked to Jerry for answers and he looked just as confused, "What's going on?" she quickly asked him.

"I'm asking ya the same thing, young lady." The man with the flashlight stated, "This here is a private beach and yar trespassing."

She lifted her arm and pointed at Jerry, "You see him?" she quickly asked though the real question was what the hell was going on? Wait, the guy was seeing her too. Wait, it was a dream and neither one of them brought the guy into the dream.

"Yeah, I see him and I see ya too, missy." The man stated quickly aiming the flashlight at Jerry, "Ya and yar friend need to vacate before I call the cops." The flashlight beam shifted back to Rose's face.

Jerry tried not to fathom the idea but it was too tempting. His lips formed into that all too familiar crooked grin and eyes focused on the fire illuminated tubby fellow holding the flashlight. He could smell it mingled in the salty air; that all too familiar scent that only true living blood could emulate. The temptation to test such an unlikely concept grew; he felt the distinct growth of his fangs brush the inside of his lips. His eyes didn't flinch the moment the man brought the flashlight back to his face; heard the man gasp, his eyes red and radiated against the bright light. "What the hell," he heard the man stammer.

Rose looked to Jerry; his focus was directed wildly on the man. It couldn't be possible; she tried to tell herself. She saw the consuming red in his wide eyes and the sneer form over his lips. Her breathes grew heavy as her heart pounded. He couldn't possibly do it; it all was in her head, not real. Her eyes frowned and lowered with scrambling thoughts; she woke that morning with a bruise on her neck, not punctures, but an ominous bruise exactly where he had bitten. Her eyes lifted then flinched, Jerry wasn't there. She suddenly startled up hearing the man let out a loud squeal; the flashlight beam darted erratically from side to side over the height of the bonfire's flames as strange muffled gurgles sounded over the gentle crashing of waves. It wasn't happening; she denied in her head, he couldn't or could he? She stumbled backwards upon hearing a muted thud hit the sand on the other side of the bonfire then the flashlight beam shined outward toward the shore over the sand. Her wide eyes focused on that beam of light; it was a dream or had it now truly become an actual nightmare. "I gotta wake up," she mumbled through a shaky breath. Her eyes finally blinked upon the flashlight being briefly blocked then her eyes focused on Jerry's bare feet as they pressed down into the sand, moving in her direction. "I gotta wake up," she repeated mumbling with more of a whisper. Her eyes grew wider and slowly shifted upward as he continued towards her.

She again startled and stumbled backwards the moment her eyes caught sight of an actual trickle of blood glistening from the corner of his satisfied smirking lips. "You are beyond gifted, Rose." She heard him speak; her eyes widely focused on that crimson trickle. "I gotta…" her voice was barely audible as she slowly nodded, "Yeah…wake…up." She felt panic begin to set in.

"You said you wanted to help me," he commented while lifting his hand then wiped the pad of his thumb up the trickle of blood, "Well, the help was stumbled upon, wasn't it?" He sucked the blood clean from his thumb. He finally took notice of her fearful expression. "I had to take the chance, Rose." He stated, "And I'm damned glad I did. That little fat man sure hit the spot." Oh, he felt that old spark just burst into a full on flame the moment he tore into the side of the man's stubby neck and tasted the flows of heated blood, "You're a damned miracle, Rose, my miracle and I refuse to let my miracle go. I have a suspicion that things might just work out for me now that I have you."

Oh, all those psychotic songs were coming back to bite her in the ass. All those morbid romantic love ballads were mocking her with the depths of their real meanings. He stepped forward and she again startled then stumbled backwards losing her balance against the thick sand; she dropped down onto her rear and blankly stared forward. Wait, she wouldn't be around too long; eventually that disease would take its course and she'd be out of commission. "Oh, don't you worry about that." She heard him comment on her thoughts. Her eyes blinked, his legs were directly into front of her. "If we managed to solve one problem then I'm positive we'll find the solution to yours; well, it's mine as well wouldn't you agree?" she heard him ask, "Yes, we'll solve our problem together." She squeezed her eyes shut; wanted out of there, away from the evidence of the unbelievable. She felt the breeze die, the salty aroma disappeared, and the sound of the waves faded. Her eyes slowly opened and looked forward into the dancing flames of the fireplace. She slowly swallowed unable to pry her eyes from the flames. "I'm sorry if that frightened you." She startled upon hearing his voice then darted her head to her left and there he was seated beside her before the fireplace.

His lips had softened from their signature smirk. He honestly didn't enjoy the fear in her eyes, fear of him. "Rose, you knew what I was." He stated a fact, "Knowing what I was you showed no fear of me that beautiful night and permitted me to give you that intimate kiss. Please, don't fear me, don't be afraid of me." He softly pleaded with his eyes, "It pains me to see you fear me. I will never harm you." He lifted his hand reaching to the side of her face and she drew back; damn that fear.

"Did you really kill him?" she asked with a shaky voice.

"Yes, I suppose," he stated with a slight frown, "It's not definite the extent of what I had done. He either stays dead or wakes undead. It was a risk I had to take to find out if it were possible for me to feed."

"How was that real?" she again questioned, "How was that possible? It's all just a dream, isn't it?"

"You're gifted, very gifted." He commented in attempt to answer her questions, "I'm not positive if we were completely physically there; I understand as much of this as you do. But I'm not questioning a damned thing. Anything is possible, you should know that."

"I don't know what's real and what's not anymore." She confessed her distraught confusion, "I'm scared shitless right now and I don't have a damned clue how to make that go away." She looked forward into the flames, "I was fine with everything else but this is a whole other opened can of shit. I want to wake up."

"Rose," he again reached and brushed his fingertips along the length of her hair draped over her shoulder, "Rose, please set aside what you saw; I did what I had to do. I didn't just do it for me; I did it for you as well." Her head darted and she looked to him with shock and confusion in her eyes, "I don't want you to have to suffer through that disease. I feel there is a way to stop you from having to go through it. You don't deserve what's been dealt to you. It angers me to know what you'll go through. I want to find a way to make sure that doesn't happen."

Her eyes continued to tense their frown. "What are you saying?" she asked not sure if she wanted to hear the answer.

He lifted his hand again and gently traced his fingertips along the side of her face. His eyes were soft while studying her beautiful face; that face deserved to be forever. "I find a way out of my hell and back into the world," he began to explain his determined desire, "I want to make you immortal; to save you from having to suffer as your mother had." He read the confusion deeply embedded in her blue eyes, "I _will_ find my way back and when I do you'll never have to worry about disease, illness, or dying ever again."

"That's not possible and you know that." She stated; some of the fear subsided, "You're grasping at some seriously unattainable straws. I'll likely be dead before you figure anything out, if there is anything to figure out."

His eyes narrowed in response to her blatant acceptance of death. "Don't say that." He said with anger in his tone, "I'm possible and what I just did was possible, so in my opinion there is much more that's possible. You even said you were going to try to find me a way out of this. We might have found the beginning to that way out, Rose."

"Yeah, find you a way out." She stated, his anger was surprising, "I never said anything about me."

"Well, I am," he firmly stated with a slight sneer across his top lip, "I find a way and yours is found as well."

She took a deep breath then looked into his eyes seeing that determination. "You're supposed to be an evil son of a bitch." She stated, "Well, you just did off some poor guy which was pretty evil but now you're making some serious statements that lessen that evil. Do you really want to be known as the half and half vampire; half evil, half good? It's kinda, well, a screwy concept."

"I don't give a damn," he stated then smirked, "I believe I'll have plenty time to make up for my good ways."

"Really," she sighed, "I don't think I'm really vampire material because I have excellent taste in music and, from what I've learned, vampires have seriously lousy taste when it comes to music."

"Oh and I thought my music had grown on you." He was more at ease hearing her sarcasm again which provoked his.

"I lied, I was trying to be nice." she smirked, "Your music really sucks the big one. Your music sucks my music's hard rocking dick."

His eyes briefly closed while his lips softly puckered. "You're damned annoying," he commented and opened his eyes seeing her broad smirk, "Just like your so called music."

"Oh you love my music and just won't admit it." She provoked then shifted the subject, "What was it like doing what you did?" She had developed an actual morbid curiosity; death was now in her future.

"It was an amazing rush." He replied with blatant honesty, "There is nothing more exhilarating; the first taste of that instant gush of blood is always filled with the most powerful flavor."

"Sounds disgusting," she commented, "Was that how it was when you, well, got your fangs in me?"

"No," he leaned forward, "That was pure pleasure. Was it pleasurable for you?"

Her eyes studied his; why did his eyes have to be so damned amazing? "It hurt like a bitch," she grinned; yeah, it hurt but not for long and oddly became pleasurable as the pain faded.

He grinned; yes, he read that thought loud and clear. "Instead of thinking it why don't you just come out and say it." He suggested, "I'd prefer to hear your thoughts then read them."

"Then quit reading my damned thoughts." She swiftly quipped.

"Fine, I will." He stated and like a switch he turned off that particular ability, "Now you tell me your thoughts."

"I'm thinking you want to hear me say things so you can grow your big head even bigger." She coyly stated, "I'm thinking that Jerry Dandridge is too damned conceded." She loved seeing his lips do that soft pucker while his eyes narrowed, "Oh, and I'm thinking that you're too damned good looking for your own good. Oh, yeah, and I'm also thinking it must've been a tight squeeze to get you and your giant ego into my dreams. One of these times you're gonna get stuck, really stuck in that door then we'll both be screwed."

"Okay you can stop telling me what you're thinking." He truly urged.

"Hey, I was just doing what you wanted." She shrugged.

"Well, how about this," he cleared his throat, "We just do what I'm thinking; much more productive."

Her eyes frowned with suspicion, "Oh and what might that be, huh?"

He leaned closer focusing his eyes with hers, "I'm thinking you should just shut your big mouth so I can get started."

Her head turned with suspicion with her eyes still frowned, "Get started with what?"

"Oh you know damn well what." He stated keeping his eyes slightly narrowed.

"I don't know," she leaned closer to him, "I don't have your ghostly vampire mind reading skills."

"Just shut the hell up." He rolled his eyes with a slight shake of his head. With a swift dart of his hand he grabbed her by the back of the neck then pulled her to him bringing his lips against hers.

It was strange kissing lips that had just sucked the blood out of some poor sap; she could actually taste remnants of the blood on his lips. Yes, her first reaction to what was witnessed was fear but for some odd reason that fear faded being replaced with more infatuation of the spirit who was seemingly becoming more and more real each entrance into her dreams. Her dreams weren't really dreams anymore; they oddly transformed into a type of portal that gave him an actual physical presence. It was somewhat hard to conceive his determination to prevent her from a cancerous death. Did she truly believe he could find that opening to return to the world of the living? Could she really fathom being immortal; living centuries as he had? Perhaps it was easier to fathom the idea of death than immortality; she was more familiar with death. And that night, in her supposed dream she bared witnessed to whole other type of death; a swift death where there was barely a peep from the receiver of death. And she saw the ghost for who he truly was, what he had been, a smooth and calculated killer, and that oddly fascinated her after the shock wore off. There were very vivid differences she had seen of her spectral vampire; he obviously would always have the desire for the kill but there was also something human inside him. And there were many just as vivid differences inside her as well.

She was strangely becoming comforted by his presence. He, in life, represented death and perhaps that was why she felt so comforted especially now that she knew death was coming for her. If she could, she would remain asleep until death came so she could spend the rest of her short life in his presence. Laid back against the floor she peered up into his lovely and dark eyes; the eyes of death she called them. How many have looked into those eyes before he gave them death? There had to have been hundreds if not thousands upon thousands that his eyes were the last thing they had seen. She predicted many were just as awed with his eyes as she was; there wouldn't be anything wrong if those eyes of death were the last she'd see. His lips again pressed against hers; yes, lips that had taken part in so many deaths. She was kissing death and he was kissing her; tasted death in the form of that lingering blood stain about his lips. And passed those lips were the fangs, the true delivers of death that punctured the flesh and into the vein swiftly devouring the life giving blood. Yes, she just might have more than just a crush on death; more than morbid fascination. Quite possibly, most likely she was falling really hard for death with the name Jerry Dandridge.

It was purely amazing her gift, no matter how it came to develop, Rose's gift gave new life to Jerry Dandridge. It started again, that centuries old ritual. The ghostly chimes sounded the arrival of dusk and the vampire was raring and ready to begin. A ritual began for her as well; at five-thirty she took sleeping pills and was asleep by dusk. Into her dreams he'd manifest and he was given back his freedom. Her gift, her dreams gave him that once nightly ritual of feeding and each time he felt stronger, nearing the great creature he was in life. Anywhere and everywhere each night was a different place and victim. Just the simple task of looking to the pages of a magazine she would memorize locations and within her dreams they formed vividly and real. He was again a creature of the night, a formable force again indulging in the nature of his beast and the hunt he craved. So many flavors and tastes he once took for granted he now cherished. Each pursuit was different but the outcome was always the same; blood and death.

For that entire holiday week it repeated over and over as it had over a year before. Sunday evening she brought them to the busy hustling streets of L.A. where she witnessed him seduce then kill a scantily dressed prostitute that was left in an alley dumpster. Monday evening it was a small town where he just simply picked a random straggler effortlessly draining the man of blood leaving the drained body soaking in a watery drainage ditch. Tuesday another place and another victim, a woman on a late night jog through a small park and left in the surrounding bushes. One after another followed each night and during the day Rose stayed awake ignoring what was brewing within the flows of her diseased blood; left the house and spent hours upon hours in the library studying anything that might give any insight to his ghostly infliction but it seemed a useless task. She would return each day, slightly weathered by lack of appetite, bouts of pain and nausea. She'd spend nearly an hour trying to soak away the physical tapping of that brewing illness and by five-thirty she again popped two sleeping pills into her mouth and waited for sleep and another journey with her spectral companion. When her eyes opened in sleep she was somewhere new, unfamiliar but refreshing by that unfamiliarity. He would manifest and she would again bear witness to what she began to see as a form of morbidly designed art. He was graceful, smooth, and so eerily calm when the pursuit was commenced. The pursuit wasn't instantaneous; it would always begin as if on a type of depraved date and ended quite perfectly, the ending began with his blood stained lips against hers. She grew strangely accustomed to tasting the blood; began an anticipation to taste the essence of his kill. Death was temptation.

Friday evening was on the approach; Rose had finished bathing, soaking in hot water nearly up to her neck. What was inside her, those festering cancer cells, wasn't near any real potential to explode and take her over. She knew her mom had been ill off and on before finally breaking down and going to the doctor; after that it seemed a downward spiral. She already knew it was there and knew it would be in time that it would truly rear its ugly head but until then she would continue as normal. Well, normal to her but to others, insane and illogical, spending nights within her dreams with a ghost of a vampire. As with that new ritual, she emerged from the bathroom with two sleeping pills in hand and went to the kitchen to wash them down with a Coke. Her dad called that day to inform her that they should arrive home Sunday evening; how was her new days and nights going to work with their return and the return of school? She would have to figure it out when the time came.

She left the kitchen tossing the pills into her mouth then took a long swallow of fizzy soda. In a half hour she would again see the new focus in her life; her dark ghost and spectral lover. Yep, she could proudly say she had herself a lover at the age of seventeen. She paused the bottom of the stairs with a frown; huh, seventeen and having sex with a forty something looking but thousand year old vampire ghost. She giggled then moved up the steps and onto the landing; the circular window still not replaced just boarded over. She entered her bedroom closing the doors behind her. She moved to the bed setting the can of Coke on the table. Once under the covers she lay back and stared up at the ceiling and decided to think about where they would go while waiting for the pills to kick in. Where should they go so he could choose his evening's source of bloody sustenance? They've gone many places; quite a few were more risky streets where his taste for hookers could be satisfied. Her eyes started to drift closed as the fast acting pills began their sleepy effects. Her lips softly smiled; always anticipated when she could see him. It was time for her again to escape into the vastness of her mind. The depths of her mind took control.

There was music, somewhat muffled and the roar of chattering and complaining voices. The air was chilled by the late fall and near winter chill. Her eyes drifted open and focused on the neon glow of a sign hung above a crowded entrance; welcome to Club Radio located in that hustle of a small town. Why there? Why not Paris, London, or something else far away? But it wasn't her who made the choice. Her head slowly turned to her right; yes, it was his choice. "Going local, huh?" she asked with a grin, "Are you reminiscing tonight?"

"It's been a while." Jerry Dandridge stated looking like the stunning fashion statement he had always been; the designer Dracula of the eighties. "Oh, I almost forgot," he lifted his right hand and offered Rose a long stemmed crimson rose, "A rose for a Rose."

"That's so cheesy," she commented yet her smile said differently. She eagerly took the rose; never received flowers besides those that had blanketed her mom's casket. "So, why exactly are we here? I thought I did all the place picking." She spoke while bringing the rosebud to her nose and inhaled the soft floral scent.

"I took charge tonight," he stated with a soft smile, "Thought it only appropriate that the gentleman planned the date."

"Yeah, I need a break." She commented, "So, you're not worried someone might recognize you here?"

"Like I said, it's been a while." He lifted his arm and offered it to her, "Unlikely a single soul ever returned after my last visit; definitely the bouncers have changed."

She shook her head then looped her arm with his, "This is gonna to be interesting."

"Oh, undoubtedly," he stepped forward off the sidewalk escorting her across the street, "Never a dull moment when I'm around."

She quickly halted; he looked to her with question, "I can't get in there." She stated, "I ain't old enough."

"Don't worry," he reached into the pocket of his black blazer then pulled out her key to getting into the club and handed her the ID, "You're twenty-one tonight."

"Yeah, I'm still too young for ya," she giggled looking at the impressive looking fake ID, "By centuries."

"Ha-ha," he shook his head and proceeded forward towards the crowded entrance.

Charley Brewster tapped his hand against the steering wheel to the beat of the music playing from his Mustang's stereo. He drove down the busy street, a street he knew but hated remembering. He was on his way to pick up Amy for their date at the movies. His eyes stared forward catching the neon glow of Club Radio's sign; hated that place and the memories of the night he almost lost Amy forever, literally forever. He slowed down approaching the rear of another car that had stopped in the middle of the street letting out anxious clubbers. "Ah, come on," he whined with a roll of his eyes. He pressed his foot against the break nearing the red glow of taillights and the Mustang went to a stop while the idiots in front of him were taking their time getting out of the vehicle. "Douche bags," he grumbled then glanced towards the line of clubbers clustering the sidewalk waiting their turn to get access into the club.

At first he wasn't sure if he saw who believed he saw; Rose Garrett. His eyes frowned, knew she definitely wasn't old enough to gain access into the club. He kept staring, his frown tensing as his eyes looked to the hand against Rose's back. Slowly his eyes shifted; bit by bit they widened then snapped to their max width upon seeing an all too damned familiar profile which wasn't possible. His eyes blinked and head shook trying to shake away the impossible. His eyes snapped wide again but both Rose and that impossibility had vanished. Maybe knowing what happened inside that club made him see things. A loud horn blared behind him and he startled then moved his foot to the gas pedal. "I need to call the doc," he breathed then eased the Mustang forward; the car in front was already a distance down the road.

Jerry knew that red Mustang well; the little shit had it redone since he demolished it. "You think he saw us?" he heard Rose question as they had mixed into the crowd outside the club. His lips sneered, "Oh, he did," he answered, "But he doesn't want to believe his own eyes which I don't blame him." He turned smiling at Rose, "Don't worry about him; he wants to forget then let him forget, for the time being that is. I'll remind him when the time is right."

"You're damned sinister, you know that." She commented as he nudged her forward.

"Yes, of course I am," he smugly agreed, "One of my better qualities amongst many others." He shook his head upon listening to her belt out a loud laugh.

"This music sucks!" Rose sang loudly against the music filling the club, "Oh yeah, this music really sucks!" Who thought you could get a little tipsy when you're technically not there but then again you are? Well, she didn't and after about a couple drinks she was feeling damned good. She sat on a tall stool at one of those tall tables with the small round tabletops. It didn't feel like much of a date night because her so called date was enjoying a little game of prey versus predator pursuit somewhere within that club. She was tiring of the music that was more disco and very little rock; stupid disco freaks danced stupidly wearing their idiotic clubber attire. She wished she could have gone to some biker joint where the music would undoubtedly have been monstrous metal or rock. Yet, she couldn't imagine her date fitting in amongst a bunch of leather wearing biker dudes. He was somewhat in his element and she didn't mind the idea of one of those disco freaks becoming that evening's feast. She felt so damned awkward watching folks strolling by while trying to bang their heads to music that wasn't worthy of head banging. Yeah, when he finished they were going elsewhere, her head made a sharp nod in agreement.

"Hiya, little lady," a man's voice sang over the music.

She reluctantly looked to her right and leaned against the table was a complete disco freak wearing a bright blue silk shirt with his hairy chest exposed. His smile was bleached white and a tacky porn star mustache stretched above it and around his neck he wore three gaudy and way bulky gold necklaces. He was creepy with his smile seemingly frozen in place. Oh, and people thought vampires were creepy; she thought while turning her eyes away from the cartoonish clubber character. "Where are you?" she asked under a nervous breath.

"Right here, darling." The guy answered her question then shuffled to the front of the table with that smile still frozen over his lips beneath the too full mustache, "You can go ahead and stop looking because here I am, gorgeous."

Maybe if she just pretended he didn't exist he'd go away; wait, she tried ignoring her ghost and he refused to leave, thankfully. She slightly shifted atop the stool trying to keep her distance.

"What's wrong, sweetheart," the guy was relentless, "Does the kitty cat got your tongue? Can't you say hello to good ole Gary? What's your name, beautiful?" He reached and planted his gold ring clustered hand against her knee.

She grimaced and quickly shifted further on the stool prying her knee free from the guy's greasy mitt. She wouldn't satisfy the guy with eye contact; got a pedophile vibe though on her ID it said she was twenty-one. Boy, she really wanted to make him go away like she had the last time they were in that club scene but this was a real setting and there was no making the tall and hairy weirdo go away. She slipped off the stool trying to dodge good ole Gary but he stepped to the side blocking her escape. "Excuse me," she nervously said; he was too creepy and his beady ogling eyeballs made it worse, "I have to find my date."

"Like I said, Gary's right here, doll baby." The creepy Gary sang then actually began to attempt to sway to the beat of the music thinking he was going to entice the young woman, "How about you and Gary take a little spin on the dance floor, hmm."

"No thanks," She quickly said then squeezed by the guy. The guy grabbed her by the arm and she pulled back then grimaced in response to the tight grip, "Please, let go."

"Hey, let's dance." The tool Gary snickered then moved forward pulling his catch of the evening by the arm into the crowd of dancing clubbers.

She kept tugging her arm trying to free it from his grip. "No," she shouted over the loud music while attempting to plant her chain belted ankle boots against the floor but the flooring was slickly polished only causing her to slide. "Let go of my arm!" she again shouted then roughly pulled back breaking his grip. She spun around in attempt to leave the outer rim of the dance floor but again the guy snatched her by the arm. "Asshole!" she shouted then reared back and shoved her hand against his somewhat sweat stained shoulder, "I said no, you creep!" The guy reacted by snatching her by the other forearm, gripping both tightly. "Let go, you dickhead!" she shouted but he jerked her forward; his porn star mustache draping against his callous and amused grin.

"Oh, come on, baby, gimme a whirl!" the weirdo Gary laughed enjoying the responses from the little firecracker of a young lady, "Give good ole Gary a little whirl!"

"Good ole Gary can go whirl himself!" she snapped back then swung her boot forward striking him hard in his tacky pleather pants covered shin forcing him to release one of her arms. With her arm free she then swung smacking the disgusting moron across his porn star mustached mug.

Bad ole Gary snarled upon being roughly slapped by the young lady. His beady eyes narrowed; his already poorly kept ego was again knocked down a notch. With horrible instincts and obvious poor ethics he swung in attempt to backhand the woman but before the blow could be made his wrist was swiftly snatched by a man's hand, a man's icy hand. His beady eyes darted to the face that went with the powerfully tensing hand; the vice grip growing painful. His face distorted in response to the gradually heightening pain.

"You shouldn't have done that." Jerry growled with his top lip snarled, "It isn't very polite to attempt to hit a lady." He tightened his grip feeling the wrist bone wrapped by his fingers desiring to buckle. He twisted the man's arm back then leaned down bringing his face an inch from the man's face. The intensity in his eyes transformed the man's face with fear. He snatched the back of the man's neck while keeping jerk Gary's arm twisted then brought his snarled lips to the guy's ear. "You die tonight." He promised with a loud whisper. With a shove he sent the man backwards hitting the dance floor. He glared down at the terrified coward making his promise clear through the expression of his threatening eyes.

"What's going on here?" A bouncer stepped to the scene; a tall brute of a man wearing a black muscle top.

Rose quickly stepped forward and pointed down at the idiot still on his rear with his eyes fearfully locked with Jerry's. "That asshole was gonna hit me because I refused to dance with him!" she shouted over the music.

The bouncer narrowed his eyes and looked down at good ole Gary. "Gary, you fucking idiot!" the bouncer grumbled loudly then reached down snatching the nuisance by the silk shirt, "How many fucking times you gonna get your dumb ass kicked, huh?!" He effortlessly jerked the man onto his feet, "That's it, Gary, you're officially banned from the club! You've fucked up for the last time, moron!" He looked to Rose, "Sorry, missy, and no worries, he's outta here for damned good!" He shook his head then jerked Gary with him pushing through the crowd, "Gary, I see you even outside the club I'm gonna bust your head!"

Rose sighed with relief; that guy was scarier than when her ghost first stepped into her life. She turned and faced her rescuer from creepy and not so good ole Gary. "Thanks," she again sighed then aimed her thumb in the direction Gary was hauled off, "He's why I loathe disco freaks."

"Are you alright?" Jerry asked over the music, "Did he hurt you?" He was fuming and knew he found his target for the evening.

She nodded and said, "I'm fine but I thought you were gonna make a repeat of your previous visit!"

He reached and grabbed the sides of her face. "I wouldn't take that chance but," he smirked, "The idiot conveniently picked himself as my choice for this evening." He watched a spark of excitement form in her eyes in response to his statement.

Good ole Gary was literally tossed onto the street by the muscle bound bouncer. He cursed loudly having face planted on the pavement. He pushed himself up off the street as a car blared its horn telling him to move out of the way. He cursed at the vehicle then stumbled forward moving across the street while brushing the dirt off his pleather pants. Stepping onto the sidewalk he dug his hand into the pocket of his tight pants fumbling for the keys to his red BMW convertible. "Stupid bitch," he mumbled moving along the sidewalk jerking his keys out from his pocket, "Stupid club," he continued to mumble under his breath, "Stupid asshole Jimmie," he referred to the bouncer, "Damned stupid guy too, almost broke my wrist." He limply shook his wrist still feeling the aching side effects of it being almost crushed. His eyes quickly caught glimpse of that damned red head that got his ass booted and banned from the club; she ran up onto the sidewalk then vanished around the corner of the building. His eyes narrowed with pure anger; hated women all together because they were a bunch of cock teasing bitches unwilling to fall for his so called charm and not so genius lines. "Bitch," he sneered then marched towards the corner she vanished.

Gary stormed around the corner catching a quick glimpse of the young lady; she turned down the alleyway at the right. "I'm gonna get ya, you bitch." He mumbled under his breath and headed for the alleyway. He skidded to a stop before the alleyway seeing her halfway down. He snickered with satisfaction then moved into the alley stomping his fake leather loafers against the dampened concrete. "Hey!" he shouted down the alley and watched her stop and turn, "Yeah, you!" he pointed at her then watched her turn and begin running down the alley. He knew that alleyway, screwed a few prostitutes in that dank environment; knew there was a dead end that the little red head would surely discover. His pace quickened hearing her boots striking the concrete, echoed off the walls of the two buildings. "Gary's gonna get ya, baby!" he called down the alleyway, "Good ole Gary's gonna get ya! Oh, yes, he is!"

He moved around a bend in the alley knowing the dead end was close and that was where he would catch her. Oh, yep, he was confident he was gonna get him some of that little red headed tail if she liked it or not. He stopped and glared forward seeing her turn around backing against the dead end's brick wall. He lifted his hand and aimed his finger accusingly at the young woman. "No one gets away with fucking with good ole Gary and that includes you, you little bitch!" he continued forward as she stood there leaned back against the wall without a single show of fear, "You're not gonna get away from Gary, that's for damned sure!" He slowed his pace finding her expression odd; there was a type of sinister amusement in the manner she stared back at him. His mind quickly raced backward. _You die tonight_. He swiftly changed his mind about enacting revenge and swiftly spun around but practically walked into the man who nearly snapped his wrist. His eyes grew wide as they watched dark brown eyes become consumed by unnatural red rimmed with fiery orange and centered by bold black and fine pupils. His mouth gaped open as fear consumed his entire expression.  
>"That's right, Gary," Jerry sneered with his lips slightly pulled back flashing his fangs, "Gary dies tonight."<p>

Rose stood with her eyes very watchful of the moment Jerry snatched dumb assed good old Gary by the tacky silk shirt, jerked Gary forward causing jerk Gary to screech like a horrified school girl. She stepped forward with her eyes focused as weirdo Gary was lifted off his cheap shoes. Her eyes shifted quickly to the right as asshole Gary was slammed back against the alley wall. She studied the terror that engulfed dickhead Gary's trembling expression. She gasped with excitement the moment her eyes widely witnessed soon to be dead Gary's neck be tore into. His body started to convulse as his face quickly grew pale; his wide eyes looked to her but she felt nothing, nothing for the likes of him. She lacked no sympathy watching closely as his eyes became vacant and lifeless. Her lips formed a soft smirk of fascinated amusement; he deserved death. Her eyes shifted downward as the little troll of a man slid down the wall then dropped to the side with a mild dead body thud. Her eyes lifted and shifted looking to Jerry as he turned to the side with pure satisfaction over his grinning and blood glistening lips. She quickly stepped up to him; without any hesitation she crushed her lips against his wanting to taste that pathetic man's fresh blood. She swiftly pulled back and looked into his beautiful red eyes, "He doesn't deserve to come back." She firmly stated, "What do I do to make sure his dumb ass doesn't come back?"

"Decapitation," Jerry gave the simplest answer, "Sever the head." He watched a remarkably amused grin form over her blood smudged lips. He brought his hand against the side of her face and pressed the pad of his thumb across her lips. With amazement he watched closely as she put her hand over his then guided his blood smeared thumb between her lips. His lips smirked feeling the sensation of her eagerly but slowly suck the blood from the pad of his thumb.

Her eyes looked up into his as she slowly slid his thumb from between her lips. She tasted the metallic saltiness over her tongue. She pressed her lips together then lightly licked tasting the stain of blood. "Gary stays dead." She confidently said; her eyes darted to the right and aimed down at the dead Gary. "My dream," she spoke with a sinister tremble, "And in my dream he stays dead as a damned doornail." Her eyes narrowed with her mind focused. Her chest heaved and heart steadily pounded. She felt it inside her building and building; the strangest sensation of control and ability to create and destroy. Before her widely focused eyes she watched it happen. No need for an axe or hacksaw, only the supernatural power of the mind was needed to sever that head from that body. So cleanly the head lopped off without any use of a tool; a perfect decapitation void of blood or mess.

Jerry was more than amazed by what he had just witnessed; never in all his eternal life had he seen anything that remarkable. His eyes looked to her; she was sublime with the abilities that have oddly developed. When her eyes shifted and looked into his he saw more potential than ever in his entire life. She was beyond amazing, beyond remarkable, beyond any description he could fathom. Yes, he could feel that he would soon step from that purgatorial prison and it would be her to help pull him back from death. And when that happened he would pull her away from death and embrace her with another gift, the eternal and everlasting gift of immortality. He refused to allow permanent death to take her; she was too precious to him. His hand lifted and gently brushed back against her face. It was time to finally attempt a step forward; for days he hadn't manifested but only in her dreams. It was time for him to discover where that journey had led him. "Rose," he spoke softly, "You have to wake up." He watched her eyes frown with question, "You must wake up." His eyes focused deeply within hers and spoke with his mind. _Rose, wake up! Wake up!_ His mental voice demanded. _The dream has to end now, Rose! End it, now! _

She gasped loudly upon her eyes snapping wide open looking up at the shadowed ceiling of her bedroom. She breathed heavily, the sleeping pills' effects still weighed against her. Her eyes felt slightly heavy as they shifted from side to side. She pushed up against the bed, her head felt heavy while her eyes sleepily tried to focus. "Where are you?" she asked trying desperately to search for him through the shadows within the room, "Jerry Dandridge, where the hell are you?" she dragged her legs out from under the covers draping them over the side of the bed. The ache was there throughout her entire body. She brought her feet against the floor reaching forward turning on the table lamp; quickly looked to see no sign of him. Pushing through the sleepiness she rose up off the bed while fumbling her hands for her glasses. Once over her eyes she searched more carefully through the room. "Shithead?" she moved across the floor; felt no signaling chill in the air. She stepped out of the bedroom looking around, the sleepiness wearing off. "Where are you?" she grumbled under her breath half expecting him to pop out of nowhere and scare the hell out of her. She moved down the stairs and moved to the living room; no ghost. She went to the kitchen then the bathroom not feeling nor hearing a sign of his presence. A panic began to race her heart and heighten her breathing; where was he? Something felt wrong; she moved through the dining room heading towards the basement door. Where was that chill draining the warmth from the air? Where was his voice only she could hear? Where was his face only she could see? Where the hell was he?!

She moved down into the basement with the panic growing. She felt fearful, not fearful of ghosts or vampires but fearful that the ghostly vampire had vanished from her life. She found the overhead light and pulled the chain; nothing but emptiness which also was felt inside her. "No," her voice was weak with that unsettling feeling that he was gone, "No, please." Her body began to tremble as her wide eyes searched the thick shadows not seeing that familiar human silhouette. The damned air was warm, the furnace hummed loudly in her ears and within the eerie silence. "No," she softly whimpered feeling the sting of tears in her eyes. Her head slowly turned, her body followed. She moved to the steps, jerked the chain darkening the basement. Up the curved basements steps she moved on shaky legs. Back through the house she walked with her eyes painfully frowned as light trickles of tears streaked down her pale cheeks. She went up the steps gripping the banister with an arm hugged against her abdomen. Her entire body trembled and felt drained as she moved for the open bedroom door. She pushed through the door sounding a loud sob, a mournful cry of the horrifying sense of loss; so like the loss of her mother.

She moved before the fireplace; her tear glistening eyes focused on the ivory music. Her fiercely shaking hand reached and lifted the lid and the melody chimed. Devastation emotionally filled her entire expression and rained mournful tears from her eyes. She snatched the music box with both hands and with a bitter scream she spun around and slung the delicate music box across the room. The music box struck the wall; the fragile ivory shattered raining delicate white fragments onto the floor with bits and pieces of the broken mechanisms. She knew he was gone; felt it nearly implode her heart. She collapsed to the floor against her knees releasing another agony filled cry. Her hands slapped over her tear drenched face as sob after sob passed her trembling lips. Her hands dropped and arms quickly hugged over her abdomen as she rocked front to back. It was gone, all of it was gone; she knew it and hated it. No more dreaming. No more not feeling alone. No more nothing! No more him!

Charley Brewster had just entered his bedroom and heard a scream penetrate through his closed window. His eyes were wide as they stared through his window and to the neighboring window, a light seen through the drawn shade. His heart fearfully pounded; so reminiscent of the night he heard that first scream which ignited that nightmare. Yet, what he heard wasn't a scream of death but of emotional pain. He realized that if he heard that scream that meant he hadn't seen Rose Garrett outside Club Radio which also meant he hadn't seen that impossibility. He closed his eyes; it wasn't happening again, his nightmare ended a year ago and hadn't returned. He turned and stepped out of his bedroom closing the door. That nightmare had ended when he and Peter Vincent ended Jerry Dandridge. Never again will he allow another nightmare take his life over and ignoring that scream prevented it from returning.

_(Author)_

_What's gonna happen, huh? Read the final chapter and find out!_


	4. Chapter 4

FRIGHT NIGHT

1.5

Blood Atonement

Chapter Four

By

~GaGa4FrightNight~

_(Author)_

_Well, here's the final chapter to Fright Night 1.5! _

Sunday evening John Garrett returned home with Jacob. He entered a dark and quiet house and immediately there was concern. He dropped his luggage sending Jacob to turn on the lights. There was something unsettling inside him as he made his way up the stairs, turned on the landing then moved towards the double doors. He opened the doors entering his daughter's dark bedroom. He reached and flipped on overhead light then looked to the bed; Rose was asleep with the blankets bundled near the foot of the bed. He stepped to the bed with a soft smile but paused near the bed. His eyes frowned focused on how she was trembling. He move forward and turned on the table lamp looking more closely. His eyes shifted studying the glistening of sweat covering all bare portions of her skin; her pajamas stained with sweat. "Rose," he spoke up but softly, "Rose," he said more firmly with concern in his tone. His hand darted down and cupped against her forehead feeling the slick of sweat and feverish heat. "Rose," he said his daughter's name with more panic touching his hand about her pale and feverish face.

"Lights are on, Dad!" Jacob shouted as he rushed into the room but skidded to a halt the moment his dad quickly looked to him; the boy recognized the expression on his dad's face. His wide little eyes looked to his sister. "Dad, what's wrong?" he quickly asked, his little voice cracking with fear and worry.

"Jacob, we gotta take Rose to the hospital." John tried to keep his voice calm seeing the building fear over the boy's face. He quickly gathered Rose into his arms lifting her off the bed then turned moving across the floor. "It'll be alright, she's got a fever that's all." He told Jacob and himself; desperate not to think the worse, his wife. "Come on, son." He called and left the bedroom carefully carrying his fiercely trembling and fever burned daughter.

It started, that journey started the moment the blood tests came back revealing a positive diagnosis for Leukemia. John Garrett was devastated for a second time, first his wife and now his daughter. Jacob Garrett, only ten years of age, faced the possibility of losing his sister after having lost his mother to the same disease. Rose Garrett had already known it was inside her but didn't speak of her knowledge; she didn't speak to no one. Rose didn't say a word or give a response when the doctor stood before the hospital bed giving the news that she was diseased with the same cancer that killed her mother. She was blank eyed, without emotion even upon hearing her dad's muffled sob or her brother's loud cries. So much effort, she thought silently to herself as the doctor kept on and on about treatments, and now he was gone. So little time, she continued to think as her dad questioned everything the doctor said, and now he was gone. She couldn't muster the mental or emotional strength to reason with what happened, how it happened that he was no more. She truly believed he would find his way back, find the door and step through then do as he said, save her from that damned cancerous journey to inevitable death. What if he had found his door? What if he no longer needed her because he stepped back into that horrible world of the living and because of that, he was gone? Her eyes closed out the world around her; the familiar sterile white walls and floors.

"We'll do whatever we have to." John firmly stated while nodding his head, determined that he wasn't going to lose his daughter as he had his wife; young Jacob tucked under his arm hugging around his waist.

Rose's eyes snapped open and she looked to her dad who stood at the foot of the bed before the doctor. "No," she quickly spoke up for the first time after days of being hospitalized. Both the doctor and her dad looked at her with question. "I ain't doing it." She firmly stated with a droll tone, "I refuse to go through what Mom went through and she…" she paused looking to Jacob's puffy and teary eyes, "No," she shook her head looking to her dad's horrified expression, "No, Dad."

"Rose," John spoke hearing Jacob beginning to sob again, "We need to talk about this."

"No," she firmly stated with her tone slightly lifted, "Sorry but no."

"Rose, now's not the time." John firmly said fearful of traumatizing Jacob any further.

"No, it's the time." She blatantly stated, "I'm sorry but I will not go through any of it."

"Rose," John slightly snapped feeling Jacob's arms hugging around him tighter.

"I'm eighteen in February, less than three months, which gives me the right to refuse." She couldn't allow her poor brother's emotions ruin her right to refuse treatment, "I wanna go home as soon as possible. I don't wanna stay in this place another damned night." She was getting angry with the look her dad was giving her, "And I don't wanna go back to that house," not that house because he wasn't there, "I wanna go back to the east coast. I wanna see my friends. I wanna be where Mom's at, not here." Her eyes flinched upon hearing Jacob's loudly bellow then saw him race out of the hospital room.

"Damn it, Rose," John grumbled, "Don't be selfish!"

Her eyes narrowed then glared at her dad, "I'm not, you are!" she shouted at him, "I want it to take its damn course instead of prolonging it just like it happened to Mom! You begged her to continue with all those treatments and look what happened; she died anyways!" she kicked back the thin sheet and scratchy blanket bringing her legs over the side of the uncomfortable mattress.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" John shouted angrily back at his daughter, "You're young and have a chance to fight this!"

"Bullshit!" she shouted and stood up on her feet covered by those useless green hospital socks dotted with rubber grips, "It's bullshit and you know it!" she snatched the tote bag that was brought to the hospital with a change of clothes and pulled out the clean pair of pajama bottoms, "I'm dying and I accept it and you," she darted her eyes to her dad, "Yeah, you have to accept it. Focus on Jacob instead of forcing me to go through something I don't wanna go through, Dad. Don't try to make me because I'll fight you." She tugged on the bottoms, "Just take me back to that damned house and do me a favor and find me a way back to the east coast where I belong." She softened her demeanor, "Please, Dad, I don't want to die here. I wanna go home, my real home." Her eyes pleaded with him to understand or at least accept her choice, "Call Aunt Julie, I'll stay with her and Uncle Phil. You stay here with Jacob in that house and in this town where your job is." She stepped up to him seeing the heartbreak in his eyes and expression, "Please, for me, let me go now instead of later on." She finally felt the emotion of tears fill her eyes; were they for her dad's pain or for her own? "Let me go, please." She continued to plead, "It's okay, Dad, I'm asking you to let me go. You don't deserve to see me like you saw Mom, like we all saw Mom. Jacob doesn't need to go through seeing all that again; I don't want him to see it again."

John stared at Rose's face, so much like her mother's and already with hints of that disease. "I'll call Julie," he reluctantly said remembering the suffering his sweet Anne had gone through and imagining Rose going through the same was difficult, "But I won't stay here. I'll finish what I came to do and when the takeover is finished I'll request leave and you're brother and I will be back to the east coast as soon as possible." He somewhat startled the moment Rose embraced him; her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. His eyes were filled with devastation as he wrapped his arms around her. He couldn't say anymore and lowered his head down against her shoulder. She was so young and he knew it was unjust for someone so young to accept what she had.

"Thank you, Dad," Rose whispered; the sooner she was away from that house, that house where her ghost no longer resided, the better.

She didn't want to be there in that house if he wasn't there, her spectral vampire. Now that he was gone life seemed useless and worthless. She wanted as far away as possible; leave it all as just a series of ill fated dreams. He was just a dream; she told herself though knew it wasn't true. She left the hospital with her dad and brother preparing to continue that journey that ultimately would lead to a forever end. Returning to that house she had a lingering hope that he would return but stepping foot inside she knew he wouldn't return. And a week later stepping out that door she felt empty; he never returned. Her belongings had been loaded into the small U-Haul trailer attached to the hitch of her Uncle Phil's Chevy Blazer. She said goodbye to her dad and Jacob but silently said a final farewell to those dreams; not a single dream since she left the hospital. She traveled silently with her eyes vacant; the cities and states passed by in a blur for those three days. Her body ached as she knew the disease was taking its slow course. How long did she have before it would completely plague her every waking moment? When would it finally fulfill its course? No one, not even the professionals could give any definite date; a waiting game.

It was somewhat bittersweet returning to her hometown near the ocean. Always a smile; she forced herself to smile in honor of her mom but it was only physical. Inside she couldn't relieve the emotional ache, another loss, another taken away from her far too soon. Christmas came and went as she was surrounded by all those familiar faces, family and friends. It lightened her a little reuniting with her head banging heavy metal loving group. She felt it inside her each and every day, the disease brewing but the emptiness was greater. Every night when she closed her eyes there were no dreams or nightmares. During the weekdays she returned to her old school surrounded by her peers that saw her, she was no longer invisible but hated the sympathetic glances that each and every one of them gave her, just passing glances but noticeable nonetheless.

The New Year began, 1987, and it was inside her growing stronger while she grew weaker. How much longer? She didn't know, no one knew. Her birthday came and went; eighteen and likely she wouldn't see nineteen. Her friends prepared for graduation and a continuance into their adult lives while she prepared for an end. Her dad still hadn't returned to the east coast which she thought best; let her go now instead of later. She pushed on and on, there was something inside her wanting desperately to see the ocean at springtime; feel the warm breeze, smell the salty air, and listen to the crashing waves. Her appetite was lost but she ate anyways. The pain grew but she pushed through it taking minimal pain medication the doctors prescribed. She couldn't continue school; too drained to really muster the strength to be normal. Her spirits rose the moment a hint of spring came and she anticipated the moment she could go to the sandy beach at the base of the cliffs. It was arranged upon spring's full bloom but she wanted to go it alone; didn't want her friends or family there so she could really make a final farewell but not to her life, to him wherever he had gone.

It was sobering for the others but for Rose it was almost vitalizing. Her dear friends and Aunt Julie and Uncle Phil helped her get down to the beach as it was near dark. Her crazy friends set up a small fire and the old boom box on the sandy beach about ten feet from the rocky shoreline. They respected her request to be left alone; said they would return within a few hours as she asked. She sat down on a blanket beside the fire and to her right was the boom box. She sat with her legs stretched out and ankles crossed wearing a simple black cotton sundress. Her eyes stared out at the lightly rippling waters hearing the waves gently push against the shore. She inhaled deeply taking in the salty ocean air. The cliffs were towering behind her with the sun nearly vanished. Her eyes shifted upward seeing the stars begin to brighten as they dotted and clustered throughout the darkening sky. The breeze blew against the sides of her face lightly brushing back the drape of strawberry blonde hair; slightly thinner but not dead and falling out as it had happened to her mom. She was thinner but not drastically thin as her mom became. Yes, she was paler but not that deathly ashen pale as her mother's skin became. A soft and almost content smile formed over her lips; always a smile.

She turned her attention to the boom box and tucked into it a mix cassette she made for that very moment then hit play. She slowly lay back against the blanket aiming her eyes up through her glasses at the almost black sky filled with stars as an almost somber melody began to play; Always Somewhere performed by the Scorpions. Such a beautiful song, she thought hearing the lovely guitar of Rudolph Schenker softly sing with the remarkable voice of Claus Meine singing in a nearly mournful and haunting vocal. She didn't hear it as mournful; it was beautiful just as the evening sky above her and the ocean before her. It was her music and it was playing just for her. Most would hear that particular song and feel sadness of loss but she found it comforting. Strange how most songs people thought sad she found comforting and soothing. She understood the song's meaning, knew the lyrics and chorus well, but it all came together beautifully and sounded even more beautiful echoing around her against the cliffs. She lifted her hands and rested them against her abdomen while studying the stars then softly closed her eyes allowing her mind to be consumed by the melody.

"I no longer question your taste in music." A voice spoke through the music. She gasped but didn't open her eyes. How cruel to hear that voice through the music; her mind was cruel. She lifted her hand and brought her fingertips against her forehead. "The song is quite beautiful." The voice again spoke causing her brows to frown as she dragged her fingertips across them wishing her mind's cruelty would end. She listened to the song fade then waited for the next to begin to play; another song formed with its familiar beginning she once used in her dream, You're All I Need by Motley Crue. She waited for the more powerful music to sound in rhythm with Neil's voice harmoniously singing out with morbid twisted type of adoring love. "I believe your music is growing on me." The voice again spoke and she softly giggled; was her mind going to be the first to go? She didn't hear it again as that song faded and another swiftly changed gears into a more upbeat, well, head banging upbeat direction; the rocking beat of Our Love by Krokus. She softly lipped with the lyrics and her voice softly spoke with the chorus; "Our…our love will never die," she spoke with a whisper, "Don't know why…it's a feeling inside." She pressed her lips together as her hand dropped from her forehead and arm rested back against the blanket.

Another song took over; she started to loudly giggle hearing Hey You by the Scorpions. "I believe you're supposed to be looking at me when this song is playing." His voice spoke over the music and it didn't sound from her mind but sounded near her. Her brows again frowned then slowly she dared to open her eyes with them aimed in the direction his voice seemed to come from. Her eyes first looked upon legs covered by tailored and expensive black slacks that stood directly before her bare feet. Her eyes shifted upward scanning over those long legs, passed a genuine leather belted waist then followed the buttons of a black knit vest and up the buttons of a gray-blue patterned shirt with an open navy blazer jacket. Her eyes widened upon looking to the fire illuminated face. She had to be imagining what her eyes stared at; it had to be an illness induced hallucination or the pain meds. She blinked and lightly shook her head but upon focusing her eyes again it was really him.

Yes, it was really him. Before Rose was Jerry Dandridge but not a spectral manifestation, Jerry Dandridge in the flesh. He found his way from that purgatorial prison but she helped him find his way and opened that door. Those nights he fed on real mortal blood with her dream's guidance had filled him with the strength and power to pull his way back into the world. Her mind, her gift had freed him, broke down those walls that held him within a ghostly existence and he stepped forward to reclaim his immortality and life. She was his savior and so much more. It took him months but he found her; that one moment when he tasted her diseased blood was what gave him the link to find her before death stole her life and light. He slowly crouched down focusing his eyes on hers which were wide with obvious shock. She looked so fragile, the disease had obviously begun manifesting itself physically while it continued its ruthless attack inside her. Yet, there was still life and light; he saw it clearly within her blue eyes. He reached out his hand holding a single crimson rose as his lips softly smiled then he spoke, "A rose for a Rose."

Her eyes looked to the rose and slowly she sat up. She reached out her trembling hand and brought it over his; he was real, she felt the chill of his hand. Her fingers grazed upward and pinched the green stem between her fingers then slid the rose from his fingers. Her eyes focused on the rose as she brought it closer then brushed it under her nose inhaling the soft signature perfume. Her eyes shifted and looked into his. She felt her eyes begin to flutter then her eyes rolled back followed by her falling back against the blanket. The shock of seeing and touching him mingled with her body's fragile state dropped her backwards unconscious.

Her eyes heavily fluttered as they gently rolled. Her lids lazily opened and she gasped the moment she looked up into his dark eyes. She felt his hand gently touch against the side of her face; was she finally dreaming again? "Am I dreaming?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper, "Are you real?"

He smiled as he lay beside her inside one of many room within the privacy of his new but temporary home. "No you're not dreaming." He said with softness, "And, yes, I am real, very real." He traced his thumb against her bottom lip; loved the expression in her slightly sunken eyes, so many emotions were within those blue eyes and all for him. "You did it, Rose." He kept his voice soft, "You assisted in freeing me. You helped me find my way back, Rose." His eyes were soft as they studied the sobering effects of her advancing disease. "I can touch you now without a dream." he stated while gently tracing his fingertips along the curve of her neck, "And, now, without a dream, you can touch me." He slid his hand down the length of her arm and cupped his hand over hers then lifted and brought her hand against the side of his face. It was nice to know he was again physical and to feel the touch of her trembling hand proved that definite fact.

She was for once speechless with her hand actually touching him. He was just as stunning a creature as she remembered from those dreams. She didn't care how it happened, what truly set him free and gave back his immortal life; he was real and right there before her eyes. Her hand remained against the side of his face as his slid down her forearm. Her fingers brushed touching his face proving his real existence. Her lips formed into a smile; always a smile but this time it was real because he was real. "Yeah," she whispered as her eyes studied every remarkable feature of his lovely face then she nodded, "Yeah, you're definitely real, Jerry Dandridge."

His smile broadened but remained soft. "Rose," he gently spoke her name, "Now that there are no need for dreams, I can want to kiss you." His eyes focused on hers, "Do you want me to kiss you?" he asked, "Do you want me to give you the perfect and most intimate kiss I can offer?"

That was what she had hoped for the last time she woke from that last dream; the intimate kiss that only vampires could give. Now that he was there, physically there, that kiss could finally be given. She gently nodded and whispered, "Yes."

"And my kiss I give to you." He stated then leaned down gently pressing his lips against hers. He waited for that moment, the moment he could take her from that final death and give to her forever. The sensation of her trembling lips returning his kiss heightened his desire to embrace her, remove that diseased blood from her ailing body and replace it with eternity. His eyes held hers seeing acceptance of his offering; a gentle comfort returning and brightening the blue within her eyes. Though his masterful mesmerizing abilities were again his to use there was no need, she was in control of her own mind as it always was and how he wanted it to remain. His return didn't change what was learned or experienced during his seemingly forever entrapment on that ghostly plain. She taught him more in that short period time; the differences of deaths. There was only the desire to give her a permanent escape from death and in return she would be with him through another eternity. He refused to know loss again, a loss her tragedy had reminded him of experiencing. It was her who helped give him the second chance, another chance to live and for gifting him that second life he would give her a second chance and life. Forever she will never be touched again by mortal man's fatal diseases. For all eternity she would be young and beautiful and full of that light he came to crave and hunger. _My Rose_; his mind spoke; _my Rose, forever and always._

With her hand gentle at the back of his hair, her fingertips lightly brushing against the thick black, he lifted his lips from hers. Her head turned opening the side of her neck to him. His eyes brilliant red and orange focused. His lips parted pulling back unveiling the white fangs; the deliverers of death but also the deliverers of immortality. With a gentle ease he lowered and pierced his fangs into her ailing flesh, puncturing into the flow of diseased blood; her body lightly arched in response and her gasp was breathy with a sigh of acceptance. From her body that cancerous blood was slowly consumed; her planned death denied the full journey. No more watching her body wither and weaken. No more waiting for the moment the disease won and took her life. She was freed from all sources of mortal death. Forever taken away from all the emotional turmoil knowing death would grab tightly and pull her down into the ground to lay forever beside her mother. Another death was granted but that death would give new life instead of remaining permanent. His fangs withdrew; a tiny fragment of that blood remained and so, an eternity began its journey inside her and would continue on forever and forever. He gently pressed a kiss against her chilled cheek, "My Rose for forever and always." His voice softly whispered.

One of hundreds, the flier was stapled to the thick bark of a tree. John Garrett took a step back with his eyes focused on the final image he had of his daughter; her last high school photo taken months before she disappeared. He had returned to the east coast the moment he was told of Rose's disappearance. Aunt Julie and Uncle Phil returned to the beach to find a barely burning fire, boom box, and blanket but no Rose. Many speculated that Rose had simply stepped out into the ocean that evening taking her own life but he refused to believe in such a speculation. He returned back to Oak Street in hopes she might have found her way back to 99 Oak but there was no indication that had happened or would happen. Months had passed since she vanished; no word, no reason, no nothing to explain what happened to her. He had scattered her image throughout the entire town, tacked fliers between there and the east coast in hopes that someone might have seen her. Yes, crazy information was phoned in by hundreds throughout the United States saying they claimed to have seen Rose. The police and investigators told him it was common for receiving so many calls when a reward was offered. It now became hopeless yet he clung to little hope that someday he would know the truth. He turned and faced the towering house of 99 Oak, a for sale sign staked near the sidewalk; he and Jacob were returning to their original home and the last place Rose was seen.

It was so awesome! Finally a Scorpions concert and damn it was beyond awesome! From the crowd emerging from the massive concert venue Rose stepped. A broad smile across her lips she strolled away from the mass of German hard rock enthusiasts who were singing loudly in broken English. She got to attend a Scorpions concert in the band's homeland of Germany where they were meant to be seen. She was beaming having heard her favorite song performed live, performed by perfection. With every step there was a little hop and skip as she loudly hummed the rock tune joyfully swinging her arms with a tee shirt in her hand. So far she had been to several concerts, it was the first one out of the States but there were many, many more to attend throughout the world. It was so amazing to be there at the front of the stage bouncing up and down with so many others; their blood pumping frantically to the excitement of their heartbeats. Such a damned rush watching the band move across the brightly lit stage, Claus was so close she actually grazed her fingers against his. She giggled still feeling that excitement. Yeah, she imagined what such brilliant performers would taste like but she wanted them to continue with their music that she loved.

A black stretch limo steered onto the street moving slowly as concert goers continued to move across the street. The limo crept to a crawl as it neared Rose and the tinted passenger window rolled down. "I thought we agreed you were to wait out front." A voice spoke through the opened window. She stopped her stroll, the limo stopped near the edge of the sidewalk, and she turned facing the passenger window. "It's nice out, I wanted to take a little walk instead of standing out there like an idiot." She explained then stepped off the sidewalk and leaned forward resting her elbows within the open window, "Wanna take a leisurely stroll?" she asked with her chin rested against the heel of her hands, "Or ya afraid people are gonna question the motive why a mature man such as yourself is strolling along with such a hot and much younger rocker chick such as me, hmm?"

Jerry Dandridge leaned closer to the open window with his eyes narrowed and lips smirking. "Yes, they might question why such an attractive and undoubtedly cultured man such as me is doing with the likes of you, a rocker chick." He remarked then shooed her back from the passenger door. He opened the door and rose up out of the limo closing the door. "Swing back around in about an hour." He ordered the driver then turned facing her; she grinned up at him as the limo pulled away.

"You ain't afraid they're gonna think you're my sugar daddy are ya?" she sarcastically asked taking a step back up onto the sidewalk.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, "No," he said, "Because I am your so called sugar daddy, who's been paying for your concerts, hmm?"

"You," she chimed, "Thank you!" she smiled wide then grabbed his hand, "When are you gonna go to a concert with me?"

"When your taste in music changes." He answered and stepped up onto the sidewalk; they turned and started to walk.

"I thought you said my music was growing on you." She stated leaning against him.

"Some of your music." He commented releasing her hand and slipped an arm around her, "Only some of your music is remotely tolerable."

"Bullshit," she laughed, "You sure in the hell liked it last night."

He huffed, "I wasn't really paying attention to the music now was I?"

"Mood music," she quipped, "That was pure mood music, baby, and boy did it get you in the mood."

"You're annoying," he commented with another shake of his head.

"I know." She quickly agreed, "And I get to annoy the shit outta ya forever and forever and ever and ever and ever."

"Oh, speaking of annoying," He changed the subject, "I spoke to my sister."

"Yeah, what's up?" she asked while her hand reached and gripped his leather trench.

"She's going to take care of someone more annoying than you, actually two that are actually more annoying than you." He smiled with such a thought of sweet revenge on the two who managed to destroy him.

She grinned, "Oh, Charley and the old guy."

"Yes," he gave a short nod.

"You could do it all yourself, you know." She stated leaning her head against him.

"Yes but I prefer enjoying my return instead of planning two deaths." He explained, "She already had it planned before I came back so I won't deny her the pleasure of destroying those two."

"I'm thinking you just don't wanna admit you just wanna spend all your waking moments with me!" she giggled, "Don't wanna explain how your having more fun with me than you would plotting Charley and old actor Vincent's deaths."

"Yes, what fun, toting you around all over the damned place so you can go to these concerts." He couldn't help but laugh because she was right, there was more fun to have now that he was back and that didn't need to include Charley Brewster and Peter Vincent, "I believe I spoil you."

"Yeah, you do." She quickly agreed, "But I deserve it."

He paused and looked down at her; she deserved everything he could offer. "I agree you deserve it after what you've done for me." He stated, "And I have you for all eternity to give you every damned thing you deserve."

She looked up at him suspiciously, "Not sure if I like the sound of that. There's a huge assed but in there somewhere."

"No but," he shook his head, "Just this." He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. He drew back and nudged her forward. "So, are you hungry?" he curiously asked.

"Yeah, sure, got me a hankering for some German." She laughed, "Oh," she paused near the turn in the sidewalk, "Got you something." She sang then lifted her hand that held a Scorpions band tee.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen." He turned and continued around the corner.

She frowned then her eyes brightened and raced around the corner shouting, "You can wear it when we're alone!"

"Not going to happen!" his voice shouted back.

"You're a stubborn shithead!" her voice yelled back followed by a giggle.

_Roll Credits with the song Hey You by the Scorpions._

_(Author)_

_So, did you enjoy this? I enjoyed writing and enjoyed it so much that I continued. Fright Night 1.75 will give you an insight to what Rose went through in her early months as a bloodsucker rooming with the likes of Jerry Dandridge the stud muffin. Also, Rose gets to meet Regine! Can't wait, right? LOL_

_Loves,_

_GaGa4FrightNight_


End file.
